When you think Elvis was a fraud,

a rip off the black man’s voice;

–

when you finally meet someone

who smells like candles

instead of gunpowder and whiskey;

–

who is comfortable with you

driving that pink Cadillac

all the way to Memphis;

–

who won’t

throw your pink stuff

to the side of the road;

–

who will kiss you

and hold your hand

–

until you arrive at Graceland

and try on those blue suede shoes

that actually fit;

–

let you gyrate your hips,

and for one moment,

feel like the King;

–

until you open your eyes

and really, really see

that you’re in Zombieland.

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