I know, you’re far too young,
Not me, I know the date, the time
When Elvis left the building.
I can’t forget.
I sat, wordless, in the evening sun
Trying to imagine how my life
Could carry on.
I held my tears
And I listened to my mum
Telling people,
She knew about Elvis,
But she didn’t care
Because my dad had died that morning
And that meant more than Rock and Roll.
Bridget is a children's author and post graduate researcher at the University of Birmingham.
