A Riff on Catullus

Go soak your swollen piss ant head
You silly skulking schoolboy
and your purile sniping friends
who think that I am arrogant and all thesaurus bound
because I use some words that you don’t know
and phrase myself within a flow that you
have yet to master, let alone approach,
and have a way, as you do not,
of crafting images that women say
have made them hot and wet and pliable
and brought them silken pleasures in the night.
You minor squeaking carping thing.
Because you’ve known you cannot contests win
and how you’ve fallen short
in saying something that has any chance to rouse
some passion in a woman’s breast,
or stir some interest
in any other thing you write about,
you boost yourself and bray,
like any bested callow coward schoolboy does
with insults all devoid of wit and crutched
upon another's words.
You call me ostentatious, dull, a man  
possessing little charm or deep insight, a yawn.
But you don't have a clue of what is new and bright,
you false alarm.
Go soak your swollen piss ant whiney little head.