Plaid A-Gadabout

Well he starts out in the evening
to stalk city streets at night.
He’s a curly, red haired gentleman
about six feet two in height.
He wears pure white Reebok tennis shoes
and he smokes a Meerschaum pipe...

and he’s O so good,
and he’s O so plaid,
he wears cross-barred pattern colored yarn
and he thinks it’s really rad.
He’s a stalking wearing plaid a-gadabout
doin’ his thing in fabric woven squarely.

He begins at Barnes and Noble
‘cause that’s often where he’s led.
In his plaid of candy apple
people say that he's well red.
Then he crosses over the avenue
and he leaves a trail of smoke...

and he’s O so good,
and he’s O so plaid,
he could be a sincere Highland Scot
in his newfound nightly fad.
He’s a stalking wearing plaid a-gadabout
smoking a pipe pursuing places fairly.

Then he strolls down to Shell Station
where he piques a load of folks.
Perhaps ire forms from mystery
or a man in plaid that smokes.
Yet the wafting peach tobacco
transforms sour scowl to grin...

and he’s O so good,
and he’s O so plaid,
he can ease a stranger’s countenance
from a state of firm-jaw mad.
He’s a stalking wearing plaid a-gadabout
having effect with fabric woven squarely.


36 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
11-22-14