Haphazardly Furnished Compositions

Can’t all be Cather, can you?
Cash and poems, the fungible
And not-so, both get printed,

And, once you’re down to singles,
They’re almost always crumpled,
Your furnishings all borrowed,

Spartan but inelegant,
Neither plush nor démeublé,
If you have a home at all.

Poverty of income stems
From shortcomings as random
As poverty of acclaim,

As innate and external
As the rocking chair rescued
From someone’s storage unit,

Dusty, battered, and ugly,
But serviceable for sitting
With weak-brewed ruminations.