Riffing on Jehanne Dubrow's "Nonessential Equipment"

(I just copped most of Dubrow's verbs for this one.)

You say, sometimes in bed, that we are poor.
We can't be. I forget the smell of potted meat
that brings saltines from box to mouth.
I we my feet in the kiddie pool,
beside the hosey meat the cat needs.
It gives me the heebie jeebies.
You can't be bothered while your hands pick
apart the entrails of your father's Ford pickup.
You can't be bothered most days. The engine
must weigh as much as space.
I've emptied the cupboards of the corporated
meat, and the holsters packing heat
that we most certainly can't afford.