Two Poems by Joe Gross

Beatitude
 
a forsaken saint
in a shop-rite uniform
is begging alms
on the overpass.
 
he sees my uniform.
oh, you work at shit-rite, too?
we talk, & my wallet
comes out––
 
sometimes
multiplication
of loaves
just means
splitting
one loaf
between
two people.
 
but miracles,
like mutual aid,
are survival pending
revolution.

Beatitude
 
The guy who fills
my pockets with
atomic fireballs
gives me the whole
bag––a filling
fell out and he can’t
buy the time
between two jobs
to fix it.
 
Another
EMT-in-training
asks for my
emergency medicine
cheat sheets, hard up:
no mnemonics for
navigating a fucked
up, for profit
(healthcare) system.
 
I let a cavity fester
for six months
for fear of bringing
COVID
into my house,
lucky to have dental,
lucky I could stay home.