Slam Poem #1

Sometimes I enjoy writing slam poetry. Even more times I enjoy writing raps.
After a coworker of mine suggested that our Creative Friday theme be Tim Allen, I wrote this:

Tool Man.

Tim Allen the dad we wish we had
Thursday evenings full of fam.
ABC 7? Oh shit, don’t change the chan–
nel. Flannel. 2×4 foot panels.
Like Fentanyl. Straight dopamine, two granules. 

Tim the tool man. He’s too cool man.
Improving my house. Improving the spouse.
Improvising the improvements of the great state of hella lakes. How many? 10 thous–
And no wait, that’s Minnesota.
Okay. Start over, eh.

He pure. Like the Michigan.
Like the Columbian bam bam
He tried to smuggle in.
Man of a million choices and voices
Never for a second wasn’t joyous
To talk to his half-faced neighbor and the fence:
A division of belabor’d… advice

90’s dad hair we fond of
JTT show son we fawned ov’r
Handy man, beer can, manly bond, named whatever.
Tim Allen. Tim Taylor. Mike Baxter.
To infinity and beyond. Yeah. Forever.