Not Much Fun in Acapulco

I remember sitting in Edinburgh's Ritz cinema in early 1964, watching Elvis Presley in Fun in Acapulco. There were a lot of empty seats and I had a distinct feeling that something had been lost.

Presley died on 16th August 1977.

The poem, Solitary Way, was written around 1987 and was included in my CELLOS IN HELL collection...

Some said the Army was his death.
But, head shorn, uniformed,
and every mother's perfect son,
he rose again, warming wooden hearts.

Blue suede shoes were left behind;
through his celluloid years
and years he danced on sand,
nibbled pills and crooned.

In a cold half-empty picture-house
I kept vigil as he sleepwalked
(with wholesome girls in big bikinis)
through crass resorts and America.

And now, lost in middle-age,
as gates shudder and close,
I understand his falling,
would have him rising yet again.

I'd have him return
if even just to sing soft rhymes
to trained children and grinning dogs
in Eden on Hawaii.

NOTE: It is sometimes interesting to return to one's earlier work. I would be about 39 when I wrote the poem. I thought it rather clever to have the last two words of Paradise Lost as the title. (Still do!)
The element of self pity in verse 4 grates a bit, though.

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