Art: On Becoming Elvis


In the morning

When the sun creeps in–Or, the son, whichever comes first–

Eyes are unfocused, head is pounding, sinuses full.

In the daytime

When I put the babe–Our youngest son–down for a small nap,

Relief surrounds me, yet a sense of maudlin kicks in. He won’t do this forever; thank God.

Running after him exhausts me, as it should. Otherwise,

In the evening,
When all is quiet, there is no need to put
my head to the pillow, mind racing.
Until it isn’t. Until…

It is morning.

When the sun creeps in–Or, the son, whichever comes first–

Eyes are unfocused, head is pounding, sinuses full.

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