the beautiful saleswoman
says leaning
over to push the application
in front of me.
i catch a glimpse of her
well tanned body
as she brushes up
against my shoulder,
she smells like coconuts.
the other
salesmen are gathered around
me
like drooling vultures,
tapping their cheap
shoes,
as they try to get me to sign
on the dotted
line
for the time share
in Ocean City.
a north end unit has opened
up
do to an unfortunate drowning.
it faces the bayside
and a street full of t shirt shops.
well, i say, squinting at
all the thousands
of legalese words typed
in tiny black ink.
i rub my eyes and sigh.
well,
i don't golf, i don't play tennis
i don't have a boat,
i don't fish.
i don't like to hike when
it's hot out.
i don't like crowds of unruly
sunburned people
eating
cotton candy and fried chicken
while walking the boardwalk,
and i'm wary of the sun,
i can only sit for about an hour
on the beach
because i'm so pale and white
most of the year.
my parents are from iceland.
so what do you like to do
then, they all ask
at once.
well. i like to read, and take
a nap every now
and then,
room service, and if i'm
in a relationship, i like to cuddle
a lot.
i look up at them and wink.
cuddle is a code word i tell
them.
Really, one of them says.
as they gather
up their brochures and
head for the door.
hey, can
i keep this pen? no answer,
so i guess so.
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