I wound myself up so, I wounded me.
I spun until I sickened my own heart
with hurt in anger wrapped concentrically.
And then I pulled his fourteen lines apart.

Repelled by “cunning” at the very first
I took offense from tone, conceit, and word.
I saw imbedded sexism and worse –
he forced his rhyme and meter to absurd.

But literary criticism seems
a shallow silly way to spend my time.
Avoiding it in school, I always deemed
my effort better spent creating rhyme.
I do not know him yet. I can suppose
the fellow’s proper medium is prose.