Billy Collins knows what women want.

Women and men filled the Gates Auditorium to listen to him recite his poems. “What women want,” he surmised, “are similes.”

“You are the bread and the knife, The crystal goblet and the wine …”

Collins explains that the tradition of comparing women to sentimental objects has worked for men for centuries.

However, he does not always follow his own advice.

He has a tendency to juxtapose traditional sentiment with the absurd as in, “…It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, Maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head.”

His mind-expanding metaphors also range from the absurd to the deeply moving, as in his poem, “The Lanyard.”

Collins stands behind a podium in a pool of soft light on the stage. His voice is soft.

He is a handsome, balding English professor in his 50s with a polite and gracious manner.

Women hang on every word he says, and laugh almost too hard at the slightest attempt at humor.

He seems to be the sort of fellow you could find sitting in an overstuffed armchair in his library- reading a book, smoking a pipe, and wearing a corduroy jacket with elbow patches.

Included in this scenario should be a dog at his feet.

Collins admitted to having written many poems about dogs before actually ever owning one.

A deceased dog in one of his poems informs his owner, “I never did like you very much.”

The audience is once again jolted to laughter.

The hour proceeds like this – laughter followed by sighs, followed by applause after each poem is recited.

Collins thanks the audience for coming.

It is one thing to study a Shakespearean sonnet or ponder over a socially significant Maya Angelou poem. But listening to Collins’ funny, quirky, sometimes touching poems is a surprisingly entertaining experience as well as aneducational lesson on the use of words.

I dragged my two teenagers to Collins’ performance to expand their horizons.

“We’ll go, but we won’t like it,” they huffed.

When we arrived at the Newman Center I noticed another couple with sullen-faced teens in the lobby who were most likely there under protest as well.

We found our seats, and when Billy Collins appeared on stage, he took all the resistance out of my kids when he said, “I am here to demonstrate the absolute uselessness of poetry.”

They smiled in surprise and defeat as the rest of the audience laughed.

If you want to find out what women want, or what makes an English professor tick, check out Collin’s books: Questions About Angels, Sailing Around the Room, and a fascinating collection of poems written by his students in Poetry 180.