The Man

By: Aaron Hill

Among the streets as soft as silk

Walk uptight people, hair white as milk.
They live in wealth and fancy too
And on Rump Roast and Caviar chew.
They dance their balls, their costumes wear,
They strut around so lovely, fair.
Their heads held high, their noses long,
The Strings all play a droning song.

But take a turn at Knoxville Road

You come upon a small abode.
Inside there be a man with name,
Of highest stature all the same.
He loathes the balls and fancy feasts
He loves their pets, think owners beasts.
He walks with shoulders slouched and all
And never wears a top hat tall.

The uptight people see him as odd,

“Good heavens! Why?” they all would call.
“You wear not wigs bleached total white
You eat not Caviar! Oh fright!
What person rich be you at all
As you walk with no top hat tall?”
He answers them all with the same
Smile that he wears, as if insane.

“You all are nuts,” he then proclaims,

“To think that life is lived this way!
To think that life is strict and stout,
That nothing is to laugh about!
Against the grain I choose to live
To not conform to life you give.
For me to live by your old ways
Is the oddest seen through all my days!”

He then turns round and walks away

Leaving the people in dismay?
How could he live against the grain
And be so happy, assumed all sane.
It twas a mystery for all that were
In this, their happy town. For sure
They never understood that man
Who was so happy, but then, who can?