POETRY

The life of a salesman

by Neal Schuster

I am a seeker of beauty, of truths that cannot be told
Like the fresh revelations in each raindrop,
Or the naked peace of afterglow eyes.
I drove six hours once (some would say on a whim),
Chasing the sun and delaying the night,
Just to see how far my chosen road would take me.
And now, safe with a job and a mortgage,
I am afraid of a little death.
Last week in my boss' cold metal office,
My red-rimmed eyes locked on his primly-knotted tie,
He told me "I think you may have a problem,"
And I told him "Pray, don't you?"
Nine to five, my spirits are bottled up.
Five to nine, I drink them.
Freeing their potent fires from sterile confinement,
Sharing with them the intoxicating joys of life.
I've befriended the worm in his glass-bottomed boat,
Seeking what wisdom he might grant me.
I even told him of my secret, desperate wish --
The hope that someone will drink me up
Will absorb my feelings, my proof of humanity
And on Friday, be ready for refilling
To repeat the sacrament anew.