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.
Beauty is Imperfection 