I do declare

 

Life’s not rich

from items—

thin futon, donated

chairs, dirty fake

-tiled floor. Used

books, used rags

& the sink’s not

silver anymore.

But the toilet’s

always clean. &

there are hooks

for keys and towels.

& signs that lean

on ledges, painted

wood, wood with

words burned

in. We’ve had

these sheets since

we were twenty.

They’re so poor,

people think, so

planless. But with

our altars & our

bottles & our bowls

of stones, we’re

healthy. With

a little liquor

& earplugs,

we sleep.