PITCHMAN

(photo by Sharese Ann Frederick)

In Memory of Billy Mays, 1958-2009

Burly and bearded, shirt sleeves
Half rolled up, he holds his product
And barks at the camera
In a voice pitched higher than you’d think.
His tenor’s not the lone surprise.

It seems he’s always selling something different:
Super strong adhesive,
Putty that seals leaks,
A wash that smells like oranges
But cuts through years of crud
When rubbed on any surface.

He looks like a bear
And sounds like a songbird, albeit
A loud one; his smile
Is so white, it could blind you –
Anyway, you just can’t help
But trust him. You thank God
He doesn’t sell religion.

You hear there’s a fan club
Of gay men who wish
He would bed them, but he’s faithful
To his lucky wife.

You see him on the tube
Practically every day
For decades.
When you hear
That he’s died suddenly,
You feel a pang.

You wish you had opened
Your wallet,
And not just your heart.


-- © 2010 by Jack Veasey

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