The Man In Purple

Something that came to me one evening, I thought I could explore the ideas behind what it is to be a caricature.

He’s just a human caricature.

The wide long cheshire smile,

Atop the face with a protruded frown,

His eyes jut to avoid one’s gaze,

He’s just a human caricature.

The easel supports his worth in satire,

What is his worth but to provide a smile,

How he got here, the artist does not know,

Only,

He’s just a human caricature.

Author's Note

I'm open to any critiques, though this is only the third poem i've ever written.