Elvis Night at the Bering Sea Saloon

You can hear the thump
from five blocks away.
The street is white and empty.
Someone has tied a pet reindeer
to a rusted truck bumper.
It snorts for food in my hand.
A young woman grabs my arm
her words are lost in the din.
I squeeze past into the smoke.
A fat man in dark glasses
and star-spangled boxer shorts
is singing "Blue Suede Shoes."
He has two front teeth.
"Thank you," he shouts
"Thank you very much."
The locals are jamming tonight
because there is no tomorrow.
The owner's lease is running out.

By DAVID KIFFER