(for Jaun Elia and Charles Bukowski)
This one doesn't cuss.
The other one does.
This one rambles names
Chanting them as verses
Like conjuring a spell
One after the other
Snapping around
Urging people to recognize him
as a failure.
While slapping himself.
The other one maunders.
Sipping beer
Imploring for more
Warning people to behave.
Develop a taste for his ordinary words or
He will kick their ass.
This one is more interested
In anecdotes than Poetry.
The other one smokes, mumbles
Burps in the middle of his poem.
This one depreciates himself as a poet.
The other one gloats himself as the last one.
They differ
But not the crowd.
On both sides of the continent
They all laugh at these jokers
Baring their artistic souls.
Like people do in sitcom shows.
Surely
'The words have not been heard'
Surely
'The world has failed them both.'
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