A man came into Starbucks
His beard lumberjack full
His hair hippie long
Pony tail and all
Fleece, jeans, sandals
All presenting a granola aura
That was given a bit of an edge
Due to the big Jim Bowie knife
Strapped to his hip
He also wore a huge smile,
Thanked the barista,
And cleaned up after himself

His jury, only by masculinity,
Was two older guys
Fifties or so,
Their coolness displayed
In nylon tight fitting shirts
Advertising Trek or some biking gear
And that middle aged paunch
The recreational bike riders often lug around
They hobbled on tile floors in their clip-in bike shoes
Passing judgment on the steel wearing hipster
Like he was some sort of weirdo
In his absence of neon and Lance Armstrong rationalizations

Maybe that is why
They wore pants with padded crotches
To protect their little balls since
They cannot let others be themselves
While their little bike culture
Tries to pass itself off
As mainstream
And who really wants mainstream
All homogenized and lock step with the marketed times
So superior in its acceptance of cool
So neglectful in its arrogance of those unlike them