Listen to Dana Goodyear reading this poem.

I got one from the widow,
no note, just a key.
I sent one to the widower
and it arrived empty.
He got one from a friend
already dead in ‘43,
then came home to deliver
six thousand boom babies.

I came to you too late,
too little, too ungenerously.
Your heart was bloody full
when I begged it to take care of me.