Ode on a Steve McQueen
by Hezekiah Allen Taylor
Thou still unbroken man of manliness,
Thou father of machismo at full throttle,
Pop historian, yes, yet how can I express
A tale more flavorful than your filmography:
What ameba-like cult legend began this trip
Of sexuality blatant or solid spine -- of both
In days more refined, or that we may remember so?
Are you man or god? In truth maidens desire you both.
What mad getaway? What struggle to find the right affair?
What proper love with the proper stranger? What wild ecstasy?
Your sarcastic melodies are sweet, though now unheard
By masses of weaker men -- nay, generations so --
They are sweeter, but, your rough hands: Oh, play on,
Those maidens say, cocking a lustful ear, praying
To tone deaf deities that send down lukewarm
Toms of Cruise and Hank -- those modern gods lacking tone:
Fair sex, lie beneath any tree, Steve will be there
With song until each maiden bared
To his bold love, they shower kisses and praise.
He could win, were he alive today, but I grieve
For he fades, his tough bliss misting into bad buddy cop movies.
Steve, thou ever will be flesh to me, will be my god.
Ripped off from John Keats' (1795-1821) "Ode on
a Grecian Urn," the full text of which can be found at http://www.library.utoronto.ca/utel/rp/poems/keats19.html.
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