Soul Power

sometimes, admittedly, I think
of Elvis in his racquetball outfit
dying on a golden toilet.
that, and I also think
of my soul. when exactly
will my soul escape
my body? perhaps it is equal
parts Socrates and poop.
don’t worry, I’ll explain.

see, what if my body is not
a sadistic captor? what if, when
I finally putter out,
the routine bowel evacuation
is just a classic smokescreen?
perhaps our soul feels dirty
so it hitches the last, stinky
ride out of town. penance
for a life of slippage.

I’m betting that the soul
just bolts, fearing what we’d do
if we ever caught it. think of
the market value of freshly
caught, unadulterated soul.
bottled in fashionably frosted
atomizers. infused with
just a wispy hint of nutmeg or ginger.
think of the mass appeal.