Jack The Fitter Poem by Ima Ryma

Jack LaLanne practiced what he preached,
But this kid was not in his choir.
My jaws were my most muscle beached,
Sending junk food to my spare tire.
Watching Jack on his T.V show
Was just a waste in the wasteland,
Gimme the cartoons - doncha know!
Something that I can understand.
Thank badness, my folks tuned out Jack.
They coulda made my life a hell,
Forcing me on that wellness track.
I'm no good at living life well.

When Jack died, I heard thunderclaps.
He's got St. Peter doing laps.