There’s the poverty of the cockroach kingdom and the rusted toilet bowl
�The poverty of to steal food for the first time
�The poverty of to mouth a penis for a paycheck
�The poverty of sweet charity ladling
�Soup for the poor who must always be there for that
�There’s the poverty of theory poverty of the swollen belly shamed
�Poverty of the diploma mill the ballot that goes nowhere
�Princes of predation let me tell you
�There are poverties and there are poverties
�
There’s the poverty of cheap luggage bursted open at immigration
�The poverty of the turned head, the averted eyes
�The poverty of bored sex of tormented sex
�The poverty of the bounced check the poverty of the dumpster dive
�The poverty of the pawned horn the poverty of the smashed reading glasses
�The poverty pushing the sheeted gurney the poverty cleaning up the puke
�The poverty of the pavement artist the poverty passed-out on pavement
�Princes of finance you who have not lain there
�There are poverties and there are poverties
�
There is the poverty of hand-to-mouth and door-to-door
�And the poverty of stories patched-up to sell there
�There’s the poverty of the child thumbing the Interstate
�And the poverty of the bride enlisting for war
�There’s the poverty of prescriptions who can afford
�And the poverty of how would you ever end it
�There is the poverty of stones fisted in pocket
�And the poverty of the village bulldozed to rubble
�Princes of weaponry who have not ever tasted war
�There are poverties and there are poverties
�There’s the poverty of wages wired for the funeral you
�Can’t get to the poverty of the salary cut
�There’s the poverty of human labor offered silently on the curb
�The poverty of the no-contact prison visit
�There’s the poverty of yard sale scrapings spread
�And rejected the poverty of eviction, wedding bed out on street
�Prince let me tell you who will never learn through words
�There are poverties and there are poverties
�
You who travel by private jet like a housefly
�Buzzing with the other flies of plundered poverties
�Princes and courtiers who will never learn through words
�Here’s a mirror you can look into: take it: it’s yours.
�
�
For Jim and Arlene Scully
�with gratitude to François Villon and to Galway Kinnell
�
�
