There was a pattern on the
wall, in the children department—
comforting in its being so common or trivial.
It wasn’t the design as much as the colours,
at once so wrong and so right.
And there was a photo too
not far from there, nor distant in time
all curled and yellowed by the greasy steam
of a restaurant off the beat—
Elvis in a milatry suite.
Reason being unknown
the connection made itself apparent
however random, and perhaps
just because of that
so urban and pop.
