To municipal poets
The upscale metropolitan poets
Who write opulent poems
And sip fine champagne

The inner city Poets
Know how to survive
And overcome life’s struggles
Day after day
Writing poignant stories
Of young brothers dying

By noon
Everyone’s grass is cut
And the sprinkler is on
Suburban poets
Looking for inspiration
In an ordinary setting



The first
Country poet
Expressed art in the fields (with hoe in hand)
With ripped jeans covered in dirt
His mark left millions of
Tiny tracks
As far as the eye could see

With New York and Philadelphia
On both sides
The New Jersey poet
Is rich and dirty
Like the city of Jersey
And the shore off of route 37

A New York poet
Never sleeps
The streets are crowded
And has no patience
The poem is vulgar
Like commuters during rush hour
And awe inspiring like lady liberty