A poem for the "Florida man."

Florida man, Florida man,
great head of hair, studio tan,
if I were hitching in the Everglades
and you pulled up, I’d be afraid.

I wouldn’t climb into your minivan,
your swampmobile, O Florida man.
I’d wait for a ride with an honest trucker.
Anyone but you, you sleazy fucker.

[link:https://www.theatlantic.com/books/archive/2021/04/poem-james-parker-florida-man/618495/|

(Remembered the link this time.)