Thursday, April 20, 2017

the sale

the salesman at the door is
tired.
his satchel
sits near his worn
brown shoes. it's raining.
what i say, opening the door,
what is it?
he takes off his hat
and begins to speak, but
stops.
it doesn't matter, he says,
you're busy. you look
like a man who has everything.
i'll just be on my way.
i'm sorry to have bothered you.
wait, I tell him. what
are you selling?
he picks up his satchel,
the weight of it pulling
on his arm.
it's okay, he says, i'll just
be on my way.
my wife is waiting for me.
my kids.
it's been a long day.
I need to get home, get out
of the rain.
he starts to walk away, then
stops, looks back, hoping,
but it's too late, he
watches as I close the door,
and turn the porch light off.



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