On the Day that Elvis Died

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On the day that Elvis died,
Our mother took
To the living room couch 
And cocooned herself

With grief.

We, her children, didn’t react.
We were accustomed 
To her displays of ostentatious 

Sadness.

She always emerged
From her days or weeks
Of self-exile. She’d stand,
Unfurl her wings, and fly

Into a domestic rage.

She’d wash dishes and vacuum
With a soldier’s fury.
The world is ending,
She’d say. The world
Is ending. She was addicted
To the apocalyptic. We,
Her children, would retreat
To our bedrooms, practicing
Neutrality as our mother fought

Her latest skirmish with doom.