Hell Melted a Sovereign’s Crown
“Summer in the South is worse than a grill at full blast, especially this time of the day. At twelve noon, no divine hand is goin’ to adjust the charcoal grill’s temperature. Nothin' is goin’ to be exempt from this great Clambake. What’s wrong with you, Elvis Aaron Presley? You’re workin’ like some King Creole. Wake up, boy.”
“Hello there, Colonel, I was rememberin’ this here dream I had about a night ago. It’s got me All Shook Up.”
“Go on and tell me about it, but don’t get so distracted that you forget what you’re doin’. I do declare, son, somethin’ made you Girl Happy.”
“Uh-huh, yes, sir. Well, it’s like this, in my dream, I became this big music star loved by millions. And, oh, yeah, the President of the United States gave me a law badge and shook my hand.”
“You got to be joshin’. Next, you gonna tell me you was rich. Plus, you had long greasy hair and you was wigglin’ like a red light hoochie coocher.”
“I don’t rightly recollect.”
“That’s got to be the biggest fool dream I ever heard about in my whole black life.”
“I know, Colonel, I realize it was a weird dream.”
“Perhaps you was famous in another life. And, as some kind of punishment for something you said or did, you was given your present life in Hell.”
“Ain’t I still in Memphis, sir?”
“Forget it, son. You got to be the craziest redneck that I’ve ever seen, but you sure are the best shoeshine boy in the South. You know how to make a brother’s shoes out gleam stars.”
“Thank you, thank you very much.”
The Beats and the Imagists influenced Bob McNeil. Furthermore, after many years of being a professional illustrator, spoken word artist and writer, he still hopes to express and address the needs of the human mosaic.
