February 13, 2013

House Hunting

The agent asks
we remove our shoes,
the owner fearful
of admitting
too much, uncertain
about the likes of us.
Her spotless home
will elude our sights,
but not before
we see her slacks
all hanging precisely
in the closet,
photos of her husband
staring into the distance,
placed neatly on the mantle,
like other animals downwind,
he is out of range.
She will never
see our offer coming,
the shrewd agent
sliding a better deal
across the kitchen table,
while we sit and wait
back at the lodge,
browsing over house
after house, like trophies,
silently keeping the secret
of their capture.