
Man walking. Step. Step. Step.
Rubs me the wrong way.
Wears his brown shoes a little too dressy,
and a little too caked with clay.
Wears his blue jeans a little too wrangler,
and a little too blue, true blue.
Wears his black shirt a little too Walmart,
with a sentence a little too ew.
Has a belly a little too prominent,
and pasty flesh a little too white.
Wears a beard a little too bushy,
and red hair a little too bright.
And as this man goes walking by,
I make my conclusion final.
Man, there's not one thing wrong with you,
I'm just a little too judgemental.
Turns out I'm the unattractive clueless one. My favorite part about this poem is how easy it is to read along and not like the guy and then get to the end and feel that pang of guilt. Every time. To me this isn't a form of art, it's a form of transportation. I love it.
i love it too :)
ReplyDeletemainly because I am the same