Seattle '73

Seattle, '73:
instead of rainy day blues,
it is 103.
I bake inside a cheap motel room
sans breeze and a/c,
as "Ain't Misbehavin" seeps
in through the slats of blinds
glinting in nickel-plated sunlight.

Piano jingle and teletype leads into the news--
the all Elvis news,
the newly-deceased Elvis news.

I surrender to memory:
his voice, like the inside of a windowless
padded room, stuffy, overheated,
slightly adenoidal.
His Brylcreem hair a topiary atop
a head full of boundary issues.
Girls screaming, throwing undies
rarely seen in his heyday.

Shocking to die old at his age.
My redemption?
Now I'm hotter than Elvis.

(Note: from a poetry prompt: take 5 titles at random from your iPod on shuffle. Mine were Seattle, Redemption, Rainy Day Blues, Surrender, Ain't Misbehavin')