The Well-Dressed Man

Today I saw a well-dressed man,

in all the proper brands.


His backpack made by Arcteryx,

his shirt and coat made of Spandex.


A water bottle in one hand,

a coffee mug the other.


His feet adorned by Adidas,

his eyes RayBan made sunglasses.


His hair was clipped and cropped just right,

his skin the proper hue.


His pants were neither loose nor tight;

all done, no more to do.


A modern symbol of perfection,

with just a hint of intimidation.


An image of success.

Designing to impress.


Awed I was it must be admitted,

but also very irritated.


The effort I admired,

but it also made me tired.


While in my angst he took a call,

and clearly it was trouble.


His entire demeanor took a fall,

he’s simply not a god at all.


In his disgrace I felt my shame,

my judgement and my blame.


This man who so well dresses,

betrayed my prejudices.


Repenting of my first condemning,

vowing for a life amending.


No matter whether prince or pauper,

All men deserve my love and honor.

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