Thursday, July 12, 2012

Customer is the king

They call me pretty, pretty salesman
Because I look refined or I sell intricate things
I can’t say
But I am not involved with the job,
just my shuffling breaths enjoying their dilemma.
You see, their eyes, not the kindest to me
like a foul flute playing some foul silences
But they say customer is the king
So I keep my eyes only on the money bag.

Once I open my madness, they all howl,
like some blood curdling species,
gawking at each other, ready to walk upon another
as if the earth is going to die
as if this is the last chance
to get on the bus this other galaxy has deported.
That smile I smile then,
right embarrassed by those buck teeth of mine
looks rather the most comforting smile
of the whole stage of nirvana.

I am only a carrier now
of their delusions and of some dreams,
Salesman of life, to some.
I Bring to my customers
autumn leaves wrapped in a gold paper
which burns as soon as they unwrap.
Still my customers are happy
because they do what they do- pay
and I do what I do- cash
or maybe because I am pretty or
because customer is the king.


Blasphemous Aesthete said...

They'll jeer at anyone who has nothing to offer to them, snarl and if given a chance, eat em up.

But you don't stop being a salesman, with them, or without them, for it keeps you amused. They'll pay for anything that shines, for they know nothing about the worth of lives.

Blasphemous Aesthete

Monika said...

Ahh, you got it all correct!

Susie Swanson said...

This is great, you really brought it to life..