If It Doesn't Rhyme, It Isn't Poetry

It seems to me that the fellow with Pornstar emblazoned upon his shirt
seems least likely to be one in a starring role;
That the girl with Love boldly across her chest
seems not to love me looking at her;
That the seat in the pants labeled Juicy
is really a bit more than overripe.

Would he be less or more if the Chinese tattoo that he thinks says Loyal actually said Lonely?

Would you know that the calluses on her fingertips
said that she played the guitar every Friday night;
That the sawdust on his pant leg
said that he worked with his hands;
That the faded, green t-shirt on sale at the Salvation Army
fit snugly over a label once,
but that he outgrew it?


I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman,
You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can.