Tale of Two Poets

By Melissa Palmer

The one at the podium 
spoke in tercets, it was
the numbers game 
and the corduroy patches
aside from the absolutes
the superiority, the smug
sidelong look that careened
down his patrician nose 
It was those patches that rubbed
me right out of the room

The other talked poems in 
breaths that spoke his soul
in rhythms and design 
He wore blue jeans and a 
sad smile, inviting the words 
to a cup of tea he stirred on 
the page with a flick of the wrist
It was he, the one who sat in 
restaurants, reading in cafes
the one who shared pictures of his
grandkids on Facebook 
who brought me back
to the table.