George Foreman, what can I say
to your poster on
the wall
that I haven’t said already?
It was
on that day, Oh George
you were on
TV
and all the grown-ups looking
at the grill you’re selling
But none of them, Oh George!
ever stopped to think
about your
hands
those hands
with soft manners
but not hiding
strong
phalanges.
George, Oh George
I was only but a child
watching old reruns
airing on TV
taped on
VHS
I never knew you, yet
You spoke into my heart
When I think of you
I think of hands
that used to stop crime on its tracks
against robbers
against perverts
against jewel thieves
against international black market arms dealers
against
jaywalkers
With strong thumb and fingers four
a divine quintet
did you ever knew, ahem
Rosie Palms and her family?
How could someone saint as you
ever defile himself in such an act?
Tell me George, how did you
ever find release?
How can someone in your state
be so cool about their fate?
Years have passed, and yet
Even though my mind’s a haze
I still remember you
and see your message everywhere I go
I see your power in
Captain Planet
and your size in
Power Rangers
your wealth in
Duck Tales
your prowess in
TMNT
your brains in
Bill Nye
your mutant genes in
X-Men
George, Oh George
how could someone be
nostalgic for a place I’ve never visited
a time I never lived in
and a persona I have never met?
Yet in my heart of hearts
and in my hand of hands
your caressing hands
soothe my soul
and massage my feet
To George Foreman’s hands
may they never know arthritis
You know the drill: Cult of Done Manifesto, point five. I saw the title and just had to write these words out of my mind to make space for more important matters. Now my soul can rest in peace