I have seen Elvis in my mirror.

Not the blue-black-haired sexy Elvis:

piercing eyes, taut skin reflecting the neon of a setting southern sun,

but the other one.

 

Fat, pig jowled.

cheeks like slabs of something dead.

Eyes like fish,

surprised to be set in something quite so bloated.

Left in a jar too long.

 

 My lips hang loose

as if too tired to utter

or chew.

I might choke on a cheeseburger.

 

My eyes and above,

they look defeated,

slightly shocked.

They've had one piece of bad news too many.