Elvis Is Alive
and living in Antarctica.
This is not another shopping mall sighting
by a frenzied fan—
six million Chinstraps can vouch for it.
They recognise his tight, ice-spangled
gear, the black stripes
of his sideburns and the drifts
of blubber which serve
a life-preserving purpose here.
It's not a lot like Vegas—
his stage is a rock the wind sings into.
And it's not a bit like Graceland—
just one unduly spacious
At least the pill-popping's stopped—
now it's strictly fish and krill.
And there are no more frivolous movies—only
the odd wildlife doc.
Hip-swivelling's given way
to the neck-thrusts and chest-pumps
of his Chinstrap audience
while "Don't be Cruel's" been replaced
by the screeching of three million breeding males,
a tune that reaches deep as winter
compared to those he knew.
Yet he still dares
to croon a few lines
of "Love Me Tender"
to the light on the shy horizon—
and for the first time ever
he really seems
(mm hnh hnh)
to mean it.