An Ode to Plaid

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Oh plaid,

How you comfort me.

You are a non-glowing,

Satisfyingly earth-toned,

Never neon,

Un-guy-liner-ed,

Not-pastel,

Why-yes-this-is-a-BELT,

Symbol of my status

As a man.

I will wear shirts of you year round.

I will cherish you in weather hot and cold.

I will wear you with a white tee underneath,

And adorn your pockets with the finest pens.

I will seek out and purchase handkerchiefs

Cut from your cloth,

And tuck them away in my pocket

For the little emergencies.

I will celebrate your perfection

By carrying my plaid lunchbox

And plaid Thermos

To work,

Filled with bologna sandwiches

And Beenie Weenies,

Or the occasional can

Of Potted Meat (with saltine crackers).

Happily bygone are the days of salads

Or apples

Or low-MSG foods.

I will associate only with other of your faithful,

Consorting with well-groomed men

Of uncertain age

And hostile disposition

In restaurants and bars, stores and malls,

Complaining of the ignorant masses

Who’ve yet to discover your subtle joys,

The constancy of your fashion-sense,

The eternal un-hipness of you.

I will seek high office

So I can redesign our state flag,

In adoring homage to you -

A glorious plaid field

With a rifle and burning cigarette (rampant)

In the foreground.

And in the evening,

I will don pajama pants of you,

In pleasing blues.

And sleep like the man I am,

Snoring,

Farting,

Drooling,

Blissfully dreaming of shooting small furry animals,

Until dawn graces the East.