Pompous....F

"Expository"—  
landed like a thunderclap.  
The expert,  
brows crinkled in disgust,  
pronounced:  
"Revealing too much."

Instinctively, my hand  
went to the fly,  
seeking assurance that it was done up—  
no exposure of offending body part.

With that assurance,  
I am trying to ascertain—  
what did I expose  
that should have remained hidden?

"Too prosy"—  
another thunderbolt.  
Prose and poetry,  
both in English.  
How do I know  
which is what?

"No ambiguity and layered meaning"—  
an invective assailed my mind,  
involving the anatomical region  
of a four-legged animal.  
The world is trying to banish ambiguity  
for survival—  
and he wants things wrapped in it.  
Who is this pompous fu*k?

"No literary merit"—  
another beautiful verdict from  
an exceptional mind.  
I am still scratching my half-bald pate—  
what literary merit does oxygen have?  
Pssst... it never appears in poems,  
yet, keeps the poets alive.

"No density"—  
another slap of disgust.  
I was trying to hide my elation.  
Hydrogen, lowest density of all—  
if my poem has no density,  
a sure win of the Nobel Prize.

Brothers and sisters,  
hope you laughed through it all.  
Didn't feel like leaving  
laugh tracks—  
as they do in television.

And the artistic wall  
smiles its layered smiles,  
dipped in sauce of ambiguity...