On a paper plate we pour
not the stained glass paint, but the
kind in the tube.
We shake 'em and I mix'em
because she says he is too pink
like a shrimp
and he needs to be tan-
glowing against the black suit and the black guitar.
She puts him on his back. looking out the window.
I paint over pink skin--
"Mulatto Elvis," I say.
(Then I wonder if that isn't a nice thing to say.)
Adding some green and white,
I swirl the unlikely colors
think about what goes into our skin tones and the color of Elvis in Kissing Cousins.
As one cousin he is golden,
In Blue Hawaii, a dark tan,
In Roustabout, my favorite, he's peachy.
Lala is beginning to think we're not going to get the right mix with what she's got
I think she wants to take a nap, but I'm determined.
I brush the last color on
and he's white. "Too pale," she says
"We don't want him to look dead do we now?" I ask.
Do we now?