THE WELL DRESSED MAN my first ever poem written in 2005
One night I came to Tea Rooms
I came along bare feet
The owner looked at me and said
Shoes!!!!! or ye canna have a seat
I looked at him and said,
My face, my arms, my legs
my bare and hairy chest
Why there's even women here
who show a bit of breast
But he was determined
that I should be well dressed
Bare feet are not acceptable
and he was not impressed
So out I went and fossicked
in my yellow kombi van
Until I found a pair of thongs
I'm now a well dressed man
The thongs they covered up my soles
enough to gain me entry
To take my place and sit among
the shod Maleny gentry
And as I ponder 'bout these feet
that are so much maligned
I've never put them on the table
anywhere I've dined
But rules are rules as we all know
regardless of the logic
But my lovely little bare feet
are seen as bloody toxic
No matter that there's sweaty jocks
or shoes that carry grit
The way we dress is how we're seen
as sartorially unfit
Footnote: Not another poem until July 2025
Inspiration
A fly which past fast zings
Like a bird on beating wings
A leaf that in wind flickers
Like a curvy girl on knickers
Or a Wretch who bemoans
As a weight lifter that groans;
Flying quite ethereal across
Clouds that gather no moss;
Like a mugger in the street
Fleeing with his hungry feet;
A happy lover who guffaws
Elusive to possessive in-laws
A Man of masculine feat
Sartorially elegant and neat,
Or a child who, like loud bells,
Is given to sobs and to yells
And a conversely patient mum
Composed and keeping mum,
Starving fellow; old and wan
Visage bruised with sun tan
With keen eye trailed above
In supplication for His love
The rain, wind and all that stirs
Voice, sound and all that burs-
I watch Nature with adulation
It gives my pen an inspiration.
JM
24th Nov. 2013
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