Are we not men, who wear our breeches tight,
With stripèd cardies, checkered shirts of plaid,
Our face adorned with spectacles that might
Repair our vision were they not a fad?
The city streets we ride with fixèd gears,
A mustache soft depending from our lip.
We like not what you like, but when appears
A draft of PBR we take a sip.
Where once we loved that beaut’ous lady dear
Whose corset forced her cleavings oh so high,
Yet now, we young men gaze back at the mirror
Like copiously-bearded Narcissi.
That beaut’ous lady? Fellows, we eclips’d her
When we birthed that ogre named the Hipster.
by Daniel F. Le Ray
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This is part of a series of featured entries in our first-ever poetry contest.
Stay tuned for more and get ready to vote for your favorite!