[continued]
Seventeen, I worked for one day
door to door with a book of pictures,
supposed to sell refrigerators.
Insane. But a woman let me in
to sales-talk as she ironed, room
curtained, dim.
She already had a refrigerator.
For years I carried a sense of the musk
in that room,
too young, too much a salesman to see
how much she’d wanted to give away.
18