The Man with Red Glasses

I didn’t know quite what to say

As he continued to speak to me

I’m sure I’d seen him somewhere

But I couldn’t really see…


His face was frightfully obscured

By a monstrous pair of glasses

With bright red frames and lenses

And he handed me the passes


“Thanks,” I said, distractedly

Still trying to catch a glimpse

Of the eyes and nose so well hidden

Perhaps he was a pimp?


Then I must excuse him

For those glasses so preposterous

And yet, he didn’t have a matching suit

Of leopard, snake, or ostrich


Not that I am one to judge,

But I doubt I would know him then

Still, he looked so familiar

Perhaps he was a friend


“Miss,” he said, so politely

“You need to get on the plane. Your passes?”

And he thrust them in my hands and pushed me

Did the man with the large red glasses

The End

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