Considering Grace

I drove past Memphis, no time for Graceland.
Trellis bridge encaged, no exit to the
Mississippi shore. Repetitious white
lines laughed with buck tooth smiles. Mile
marker, mile marker, mile marker, mile.

Visions of bleached heads, National
Inquirers folded under fleshy
postmenopausal arms, a pilgrimage
to the musical gates. Thoughts of tales
dripped away, baptized in black velvet
dreams. No time for bell-bottomed ghosts,
faithfully to Nashville before the blood orange
moon burned blue. I let iconic figures be,
leaving the worshiping to the fearful sheep.