The man in plaid stalks the streets. |
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 |