I do not love thee, Mr. Bill.
The reason why is kind of chill.
But this I know, it's very shrill:
I do not love thee, Mr. Bill.
What little I recall of Billy Collins's "work" is that it is self-centered, can make fun of people who cannot reply (an Amish farm boy), and glib. His smoothness of diction disguises a stupendous ego and an essentially superficial outlook. Here, he is simply gross for the sake of being gross. I cannot relate to this slick free verse poem except as a piece of exhibitionism.
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