Puppeteer was what some say of this style.
Yet, what’s wrong if it’s my style for a while?

Crocs for cracks; some say with sure mockery,
Can mockery knock modern hosiery?

Some wear fur-lined like squirrels protruding,
When gardening, other squirrels squeaking…

Under tens wear. Their moms go hysteric,
Red, green, yellow – fashions very mystique…

Some wear with wet socks and walk on a beach,
Some in jeans torn crocs worn out new style teach…

Some, when wearing these, wear Buddha silence,
That none dare to tease them or make comments.

Some walk carefree in these as though saying,
It’s my comfort. You needn’t keep worrying.

* * * * *

Crocs on, I’d been to a village rural,
The glance rustics threw on me was cruel.

So, a modern monkey – they might have thought,
Laughed, giggled dumping all my smiles to naught…

When the crocs got wet and started quacking,
Ducks inside they said; acted as catching…

I wore socks and they got wet and muddy,
They compared me to a joker buddy…

No one there wore slippers leave alone shoes,
The odd man out – subtly increased my woes.

I gave explanations to convince them,
None convinced. I was in the hem of shame.

When I removed and got set them aside,
A dog pissed on them and damaged my pride.

I came home thinking to teach them later,
With improved facts to convince them better.

I entered the village, my black shoes on,
‘Here’s the joker’, they said, ‘turtle shell on’.