Elvis Magnets

The food line is straight down main street.
All the neighbors are glad to be in a tavernless town.
The tailors and the coffee shops serve gossip
and sleeplessness to scavengers on the avenue.
There are no places to surrender silently.
The counter girls are beautiful
and the old man behind the cash has a book.
He reads all day behind the display window,
knowing full well the sun will lighten his load,
just like a good idea: the likeness,
t'is Elvis in his youth.
The magnets are made to be display on a fridge.
But I have them in my room:
a reminder of past fellowships,
an echo of some good intention I beget,
a reminder that I once was in the mix.