
But here today I make it up to Billy Collins. I know he was disappointed when he stepped into the packed lecture hall and saw my seat, the one in the front row that read "Reserved for Sincerely Yours", as empty and desolate as the top of James Carville's head. Inside he wept but on the outside, struggled on. Today his suffering can end because today he joins a select society: "Poets Whose Mailboxes I Don't Want To Put Rabid Mice Inside Of" (PWMIDWTPRMIO).
To serve as an induction ceremony, I post two of his poems below, alongside a fauxem of my own, an oldie which pales in comparison.