October 28, 2012

Door to Door









From door-to-door,
my uncle was sent,
selling himself
wherever he went.

A roguish sort
with a certain charm,
he took his pitch
to the farthest farm.

Until one day,
he suddenly died,
we all knew
how well he lied.

At his funeral
few were so deceived,
many fine words
no one believed.

His wife and children
sat up front, in black,
his devoted flock
all wept in back.

10/3/12