He likes the blue collar,
Pants with the stains.
Comes home from work with black hands and back pains.
There's just something not there, a difference in taste,
Which makes me so different from him.
I'll wash the whites but not white wash a lawn chair.
I'll read a book but I won't shoot a black bear.
I know what I want and I know how to get there,
Not by chopping down trees and developing chest hair,
But by using my mind
And taking the time
To make sure the words at the end of the line rhyme.
C. Alexander Blum
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
He likes the blue collar,
Pants with the stains.
Comes home from work with black hands and back pains.
There's just something not there, a difference in taste,
Which makes me so different from him.
I'll wash the whites but not white wash a lawn chair.
I'll read a book but I won't shoot a black bear.
I know what I want and I know how to get there,
Not by chopping down trees and developing chest hair,
But by using my mind
And taking the time
To make sure the words at the end of the line rhyme.
C. Alexander Blum
Request permission to use this poem