Like Elvis

We've left the building of ourselves
at this familiar stage, I think you know

exactly what I mean: love has turned to rage.
This is for my shitty job, crumbling city life;

it's all your fault when things don't go my way.
I guess I'm pretty pissed at what your eyes have got

to say, a men-and-here-we-go-again assize.
It's true, we need more pelvic thrust.

How was it for you? I'm all shook up.

Doug Gray

If you've any comments on this poem, Doug Gray would be pleased to hear from you.