Furniture Salesman

Poem By Malcolm Evison

Too late, even to sell
himself. The air is silent.

Distinct servility
lurks behind

that benign smile -
lacking expectancy.

Once there was the quiet
thrill of anticipation -

a first transaction
in the adult world -

but that first tremor
soon began to wane.

Once he waxed lyrical
to tell of all

the benefits
the purchaser might find:

now he's resigned -

too late
even to sell himself.

Comments about Furniture Salesman

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

4,0 out of 5
1 total ratings

Other poems of EVISON

Old Comrades

Wearing the anguish
of old age
like some military honour,
he follows the cortege.

Adam

This man, this image is the scheme
of things. This pure delight
he finds as he touches
the flesh of a woman. Man-made

The Body Snatchers

The body snatchers called
and found me void -

where once there was

Consultation

These visits are
by now routine -
on entering

Impromptu For Jack

Not so much a moment
but all time,
the steady refrain

Morning

Blackly embroidered
against the morning sky,
three trees.