The president of the fashion club
They call him The Flab Man
He wears a hairless cat print jacket
With a twenty-seven foot wingspan
His pants are way too small (above the knees)
A shirt with one sleeve long, the other short
His hat’s about to fall (he aims to please)
Don’t ever say he’s wrong, he’ll simply snort
He only wears rain boots (they’re always untied)
He tripped on the strings once (and he could’ve died)
Yet everyone loves him (and how could they not?)
Obtaining a fresh look (advice from him’s sought)
I admire this man and his strange attire
I find his approval’s something I require
Yet I fail to see that’s what he’s against
Holding care for others’ thoughts so intense