Dealership Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Dealership



Top salesman here.
I make them
sign away their sad,
installment souls.
They kick the tires.
They haggle prices.
I sense their desires and problems.
Each one I will solve today.
I don't sell vehicles, friend,
I sell dreams,
prestige and comfort
for that well paved
course to Hell.
They'll cruise awhile
before remorse sinks in.
I'll hear their echoed
road side screams.
That guy wants speed.
That girl craves ecstasy.
That mellow dude,
a late night drive-through run.
That cherried pill
will get the project done.
That looser seeks the means
to score and flee.
I'm cunning, baffling,
powerful and mean.
There hasn't been a fool
I haven't seen.

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