A Tribute to MJ

(I know I’m at least a week or two late with this, and many dollars short. But since I’ve written poems for Palin, and rhymes for General Motors, I thought it was the only fair and right thing to do. Michael Jackson was a phenomenon of humanity – albeit a strange and difficult to understand phenomenon. Sort of like quantum mechanics.)

Dear Michael Jackson, now you are dead.
Your music, your dancing , the hair on your head.
All so unusual, all so unique.
The video "Thriller" featured mummified freaks.

And some might say that you were one too.
With 24 nose jobs - a plasticized muse.
You were black, you were white, you were there in between.
That kid wasn't yours, like you told Billie Jean.

But you moonwalked your way right into our hearts.
You popped, you hip-hopped , in fits and in starts.
You may have molested, but I can't really judge.
They were after your money, it wasn't a grudge.

The judge said "not guilty" and you ran from the court.
As if celebrity hunting was some kind of sport.
But for sure you were strange in a very strange way.
The strangest of strange, like a man eating hay.

Though hay has some fiber, and vitamins too.
Don't knock till you tried it, you hay-hating shrew.
And don't say that you've tried, but just couldn't swallow.
Your excuses are tiresome, your reasoning hollow.

I saw you at the post office - yeah I'm talking to you.
In jeans, a blue jacket, brown hat, and red shoes.
You owe me ten dollars, and I'll come to collect.
Michael's dancing is one thing I'd love to perfect.

But back to the money of that which I'm owed.
If Michael were here he'd turn you into a toad.
And not cause he's evil, and not cause he's kind.
The next iPhone version you'll control with your mind.

We put a man on the moon, and a probe out in space.
Built nuclear power plants, and monster trucks that can race.
No matter how many surgeries you had on your face.
Michael Jackson, you're a man that no one can replace.

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