I met a man with orange hair

The only thing - he wasn’t there

He matched his hair with orange shoes

And pinstriped shirts made in Toulouse

With strides quite strident, stride he would

A bold flag bearer, bright shoe wearer

His golden locks matched orange socks

A pair of which could not be finer

If fly he could, then fly he would

To void his shoes from icky mud

And to this end he hopped instead

Gold flashes leaping from his head

He said he’d met Franz Ferdinand

The repetitious lyrics band

So wrote for them some words in sand

While picking out the words which rhymed

He warned them of the danger signs

With flashes leaping from his head

The band just laughed and gathered hay

No rhyme nor reason shone that day...

I asked him if his hair was dyed

The orange headed man replied

To match this rich and subtle blend

Radio-active dyes I use my friend

I lay them on both thick and fast

To make for sure that they might last

It caused me once to lose my mind

But in the frenzy thus I find

That if my hair was dark or fair

To counteract my eyes from glare

I’d need a green and pointy cap

The likes of which I do not have

It thus can make no sense to me

And that would be a tragedy

While I might be dazzled by this fare

I noticed then I wasn’t there

So asked him if his shoes were real

He told me there and then with glee

Oh yes my friend I did a deal

I’ve purchased now two pairs for three

The last question that I had for him

Was if he knew he wasn’t there

Then why the most elaborate looks

His face just grinned, he spoke with pride

I’ve mostly picked it up from books...

Richard Lee 2009

illustration by Claire Whittaker