The contest was never mentioned
but it was always there.
The poet understood too late
he was not terse enough and now is in despair.
The poet from his youth sang and was wildly praised
when discovery of a younger poet—
a million cattle in a foreign continent grazed—
demolished him. It was that simple.
The blunt musical word choice of the younger poet changed everything.
The older poet yelled at the mirror above the white, cracked sink:
“why did I use all those words?”
A poet needs to be striking—but succinct.
“There’s been so many girls that I’ve known…”
climbed the charts even in red and black, shadowy Rome.
He drank with the nieces of the Medici.
There was even talk of murder in the silken laughter.
But this oaf from Los Angeles conquered the world,
never mind the academies of New England:
“You’re lost little girl.”