Competition Poem by Singer Joy

Your dough-hooks sound like a dying animal,
But mine are made of pure apricots.
Your contributions are considered trivial!
(and they’ll never understand how mine are just as minimal)

Your California squeaks like Maine on a Saturday,
While I told them about Romania’s July.
Your carbonation is simply flat today.
(and they’ll never understand how you and I REALLY play)

Your combination slapped Avant Garde on the toenail;
My abomination sapped Dali’s greatest mystique.
Your wild abandon is so, so frail!
(and they’ll never understand why I’m just as pale)

Your razor-wire lisps like a fizzling meteor,
While my Demon was barely dimensional.
Your linguistics leave something wanting for.
(and they’ll never understand that mine are just as poor)

Your fish flap with heavy wrists of spite,
While forest fires leapt angrily at me.
Your resistance is pathetic and contrite!
(and they’ll never understand that you’re obviously right)