Elvis may not have loved the Trafford Centre

Elvis may not have loved the Trafford Centre

although it has countless places
to buy burgers and fried chicken,

and a fortune teller,
pushed into an opulent box
like a delicate paperweight,

and bronzed dolphins
paused midway through impossible
skyward leaping,

and high-breasted,
hard-headed women
in alabaster,

and oversized teddy bears
singing children’s songs
in robotic American accents,

and poorly scaled frescoes
fringed with golden fairground bulbs…

there is an absence of nature;
the few living things,
clipped, branded
and badged within an inch of the life.

i picture the King, with an entourage of many,
heavy heels pounding out An American Trilogy
as he waits in line,

all shook up,
by the feeling of being lost
in a vast, draughty,
forgotten mausoleum.