My poem is rich in emotion
Your poem is sentimental
My poem is free verse
Your poem lacks structure
My poem is iambic pentameter
Your poem is dog trot
My poem's style is reminiscent of Yeats
Your poem sounds too much like Dickinson
My poem is experimental
Your poem is a mass of confusion
My book of poems was self-published
Your book of poems was printed by a vanity press.
He sports thread-patched jeans and tattered T-shirts
that several years ago he tie-dyed red/black.
All his clothes have agitated and tumbled
to that red/black fade.
His feet mock the organization
sporting one red Chuck
and one black Chuck
that hold together with safety pins and tape.
For ten semesters he faithfully attended
classes at Ball State University
and finished off his last semester
without a degree.
The records office tracked his diminishing GPA.
He sports a funky education and red dreads.
