#he's going too fast and weaving around staid fords and chevys
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#elvis presley#baby elvis#daydreaming that he gets his ticket#and he rants all the way home to audubon about how he can't do nothing#not even get his haircut#without someone giving him grief for it#he warns me not to tell his mother that he's got yet another ticket#back home he paces around#can't settle#then he grabs my hand and announces we're going out#he's in a real mood and snaps: “I'll be back when I'm back!” when Gladys asks how long he'll be#he'll regret that later when he's calmed down and knows he'll have to face her wrath#he pulls on his motorcycle cap and yanks me onto his harley behind him#he'll also regret that later when I know he's calmed down enough to show my wrath#we don't even stop at the bottom of the drive to give any of the kids an autograph#they scatter as he screeches off down the residential road#he's going too fast and weaving around staid fords and chevys#but i trust him#i don't know why#by the time we hit the highway my hair is a wreck- a lion's mane across my face#i press my cheek against the warmth of his back and feel the tension easing#he whoops out a war cry#or maybe a howl of freedom and tugs my arm tighter around his waist#as we accelerate towards nowhere
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