IF ELVIS WERE ALIVE, HE WOULD BUY ME THIS CAR
If Elvis were alive, he would buy me this car.
He would buy me this red BMW Z3
That fits like a tight cashmere sweater.
Just look at those curves.
Testosterone? Forget it!
This car runs on estrogen.
It redefines hot flash.
Even a 30-minute test drive feels like a rally.
A chance to bring home trophies.
A high schooler smiles.
A college student with one of those undefinable Euro-accents,
actually passes the time of day.
My real life car carries recycling detritis,
bags of peat moss and potting soil.
This one restricts itself to a bikini, a hand towel, and a credit card.
Or a baguette and a little container of pate.
I know the truth: Elvis is dead.
But somewhere behind my blended bifocals
Simmers real freedom.
If I wanted to sacrifice
Imaginary security in my dotage
For imaginary sex appeal in this uncertain age,
Much as I would enjoy the Kingšs attention,
I could buy this toy for myself.