I'm a night owl, so I was all too familiar with the exuberant Billy
Mays. Whenever my brother comes home from college for a couple of days,
we fully expect to spend some time in his company and three o'clock in
the morning. Though he caused me to wear down my mute button, I will
miss his enthusiasm.
Billy the Bellower
In moments when I should have been in bed,
I'd stir upon the couch with bleary gaze.
As brightly booming cheers alighted on my ears,
I'd shake a startled fist at Billy Mays.
No matter what the bearded vendor said,
He shouted with the fervor of a fan.
This infomercial prince forever made me wince,
And yet I couldn't help but love the man.
I wondered if he ever simply spoke.
Was every meal with him a loud affair
Most likely to begin with his expansive grin
As Billy gushed about the silverware?
"He should be my alarm clock," I would joke,
For who could sleep through his effusive pitch
When he proclaimed, "Kaboom!" or sterilized a room
With household magic that could wow a witch?
He was so fond of adding, "Wait! There's more!"
For him, I've little doubt that this was true.
More twenty-dollar toys, more ordinary joys,
More decent, life-affirming work to do.
When I am stuck with some distasteful chore,
I don't intend to bow to lethargy.
I'll chuckle as I scrub my scum-encrusted tub,
Recalling Billy bellowing at me.
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