from
Deli, Sector 10.
Alex Wilson,
calls me again today.
we've spoken
many times before.
he's selling end of life
insurance.
he wants to know if i smoke.
how old am i.
am i in a wheel chair,
or in a senior facility
wiping oatmeal off my chin.
i can hear children in the background
speaking Hindi,
goats and chickens,
a rooster crows.
he asks me
do i own a home.
a car.
do i have a bank account.
he wants my
Medicare number
my social security number,
my mother's maiden
name.
the name of my beneficiary
if i should pass
into the great beyond,
or hell below.
i've given him a different
name,
every time he calls.
Jack Hoffman
Seymore Butts
Elanore Roosevelt
Johnny Strepp,
but he doesn't get it.
he's the worst and yet the most
persistent salesman
i've ever talked to.
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