rejecting Walt

i don't care

much

for Walt Whitman,

i look

at his picture

and i feel that he needs

a bath,

that he might

have fleas,

or a rash.

his soft blue eyes and 

wild white

hair

look odd beneath

that crumpled tilted

hat.

i read

his words, the generous

flowing lines in his 

famous

Leaves of Grass,

and i shrug.

i'm sure he was a fine

fellow, but

i think i'll pass.