Ran Into Elvis Jesus and Your Memory At Walmart

Left toothbrushless mine pilfered along with shampoo,deodorant, razors and other such, found me wasted in Walmart, thieving Gnomes at the last homeless shelter are my suspects. His name tag said Elvis, greeting customers at the starting gate, navigating shopping cart jockeys with cherubs riding shotgun, my request for the location of items is answered Presley style "Past houseware" he Hound Dogged lip curled. Among waffle irons and toasters in an aisle devoid of housewife print skirts, your memory purchased my thoughts, forging past bedding, linen sheets how we once tangled and ravaged, is that your image disappearing into lingerie. Jesus on his employee name badge suffering from price tag neurosis."Love potion? We don't sell that vagabundo polo." He growled with picante breath. You told me I could find everything I needed here, but not even Walmart has what it would take to make you love me again. I hope Target is open! ©2019