What Good is Poetry?
(For Gary B)

It buys us nothing, will not
fill empty bellies bloated
with endless promises
or excise a bullet
from an accidental wound
unravel time to force
the trigger to untrip.

But it is the copper penny
spent, redemption
from the poverty of language
that sucks the marrow
from the bones of our misfortune.

The only thing of value
I can offer.