Sublime Salesman

He didn't come dark and he didn't come scary, he just came through my front door. Disguised like a beautifully sublime salesman; his teeth white and his hair perfect. And he spoke in a soft simple sort of way, selling me transparent dreams and plastic promises. And I desperately needed them both; happily, I let him into my home.

His suit was as dapper as a spring day and his shoes polished so clean. I offered him some cool lemonade, and I talked of a summer breeze that comes late afternoon. And as we sat, he soon delighted me with conversation of a simpler time; a place of men with hats and women with bustles, everyone cordial and polite. And I was soon captive to his polyester makeover.

The afternoon sun settled and he tucked his crimson pointed tail in tight and offered me much for the little that I had. Desperate for the hollow wares that he peddled, I quickly sold them, all four of them, and the last kiss of each burden was euphoric.

I watched his lips lazily curl over each crooked tooth as he cordially smiled at my children, both boy and girl. His fingers so cold, white and narrow, they gently caressed the supple cheek of each youthful innocence. And as quick as he came, he left just the same. Gone was the polished purveyor of empty promise, and with him; my treasure.

The morning dew settled on the crisp green grass and the summer breeze blew through the porch enticing the wind chimes to sing their morning song. Slowly I swing lifeless in the wind, back and forth as the rope tightens and the cinching of hemp, burns my neck.

The sublime salesman in my ear welcomes me home. Guilt is my hooded hangman!