The Salesman

The salesman – blue eyes
helped him get the job I guess;
what’s behind them?

I’m no longer host in my own house:
he’s cast me as opponent, victim

whom he will bully into gratitude.
He spreads his brochures on the table.

When he’s gone, I feel dirty,
battle-worn; better phone

the man around the corner for a so-so job;
at least we know each other.

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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