A colleague wore red pants to work yesterday. Another colleague and I were teasing him, and the second colleague said, “you know, ‘the Man in Red Pants’ sounds like a character who would have been important in the Civil War, like the Scarlet Pimpernel or something like that. Andrew, you should make up a poem about that. A limerick.”
So I did.
There once was The Man in Red Pants
who smuggled ex-slaves off to France,
where his radical views
gave Paris the blues,
and reggae, jazz, hip-hop, and trance.