the exchange rate in poetry

we pay top dollar for gold
get cash for your gift cards
we buy we sell and we trade
federally licensed firearms dealer
trade in well-meant old gifts and
buy a gun, turn their love into guns
sell gifts for food money because
the place you once worked left town
best price in town for your dreams
because meth doesn’t go on trees
or your great-grammas gold teeth
she isn’t using them anymore
why not turn them into a gun?
the rocks of failed marriages
the wheels of empty baby carriages
holding onto those isn’t no fun
why not have food for the evening
why not have another semi-auto gun
then another then another one
“we buy gift cards” the LED
screams into the night street
across from the Burger King
where I may stop to eat and
it’s like I’m staring into the
dark heart of all American failures
while I wait for my cheeseburgers
and then
I turn the gaze onto myself