I write poems for the dead
for the dying
for the marginalized
for the abandoned, feared, reviled
for the victims and the perpetrators, the sinners and the saints
the bereft and the afflicted.

I write poems for the janitor
brushing brooms in empty corridors after dark
The mother
with water-rimmed eyes at the pantry
The father
who mails books to his daughter
that he cannot read
The checkout clerks
their fingers tired and cracking under fluorescent lights
in the graveyard hours…