The Errors of Poetry

I wrote this poem after reading T.R. Hummer's "Where you go when she sleeps"

I found his poem to be deeply offensive, and I wrote this in the white heat of anger...
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The Errors of Poetry

    "... whatever vacuum you were in before"
    T.R. Hummer's "Where you go when she sleeps"


What does it mean when you walk into the living room
    and see a guy sitting on your couch,
        his hand cradling a woman's head against his lap?

What is it with this guy?
What is it about her face in his crotch,
    that makes him think about oats being sucked out of a silo?
Why is it that all things golden,
    even "the deep rush of the grain"
        remind him of death,
    or his last, best orgasm while drunk on pure-grain alcohol
        or high on Panama Gold?

Is it her golden hair, tinted black at the roots?
Is it the tattoo of their golden retriever
    inked with brown henna on her shoulder blade?
Is it the golden ring, piercing her lower lip, which brings
    to mind that time she took his yellow Beemer
        and crashed it into the lake
(and how--inspired by his name--she made it up to him later)?
Or is it the "vacuum you were in before" that great emptiness
    deep within her golden skin--her mind, like Yorick's,
        which begs over and over to be filled.

How much depends on rendering into verse
    the corpse of some forgotten farmer's son
        lost in a silo full of oats?

And why does this poem remind me of Eric Clapton,
    or anyone who's ever written a poem about a guardian angel?

        I don't know--you tell me.