Beauty is Imperfection

I had to sell her a book

I had to sell it to her or I wouldn’t eat

The books were forty-six dollars and I got a 15 percent commission

That was my only food

I wrote out my successes in a blue sales ledger

And the ledger boxes were so empty they yawned

I knocked on the door and showed her my profile

So she could size me up,

That’s the sales posture

And then I turned to her and asked her questions

She couldn’t say yes or no to:

Questions begat questions

What is your favorite this? Who is your favorite that?

What do you care about?

And of course she cared about things

You can’t say you don’t care

You sound like a child

And when she had given bits of herself away

She fed me. Salespeople get fed a lot

We established trust for the wrong reasons.

And I ate a chicken sandwich.