-well beyond the realm of reason-


well beyond the realm of reason,

out of bed, shuffling toward

the room of porcelain and water, thinking: 

what if this is the way it will be all the time,––

like this, going to the toilet, to work, to the opera,

going to the Stop and Shop, dancing,–– looking like this,

as dreary as this, the way our zombies appear on late night television.

I probably laughed at the imagery at the time,

but soon I’m at my station confronting the scraps of paper, the remnants

of last night's afterthoughts, one noting simply: “encyclopedia salesman”.  

I wasn’t immediately moved to take this concept further,

but the cat's fed, the raisin bread's toasted and

sitting there, the thought of this skinny young man

intensified with every sip of coffee;

his rumpled, baggy suit, his mile-worn, semi-polished shoes and

the big, leathery case holding the snazzy promotional enticements.

he was invited into the living room, passing
the violence of the kitchen to sit on the living room couch,
prime seating, within easy reach of the mints.

his pitch started with the wonderful Index, which was like

a heavy, tactile "Previews of Coming Attractions".

but this young salesman was lucky,

not for closing the sale of the complete edition by deftly
utilizing the con of afternoon naps for our young mother,

but for simply arriving at the door at the right time.

my grandfather had cut the chicken down

from the cold, inverted gallows
at the first-floor wall of the pea-green entryway

leading to the screen door of the kitchen

where my grandmother plucked it naked

and my grandfather chopped off its feet for the broth.

the chicken-stock is being heated on the stove.

the television’s volume is lowered in respect.

he closes in on the sale, then drives away in a road-weary,

utilitarian ‘42 Plymouth Business Coupe.

Quequechan