Carpets

there was a knock at the door
and it was two pretty women
seeking to demonstrate
a brand of vacuum cleaner
with a free carpet cleaning.

Now this exchange was not super smooth
because my native tongue
is not theirs nor theirs mine,
though they knew mine better
than I know theirs by now.

Now had I been a single
(and younger) man,
I would’ve certainly invited them in
to show me how well they could clean carpets.

But being a man who is not single
and that the one they needed to speak to
about this was not at that moment at home,
I assured them I would pass along
the offer, and asked they return
another day, to which they
indicated that the names
and numbers were on the coupon
thing they’d handed me,

and I said Okay,
well I’ll pass it along
and maybe you’ll get a call.
We bade adieus
and I tried to make my imagination
obey as well as my body obeyed,
as I closed the door
and made to return
to what I’d been doing.

Walked across the apartment floor,
looked down, around.
Hey wait a minute:
we don’t have carpeting.

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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One Response to Carpets

  1. Reblogged this on Come To Timmy and commented:

    something from the (sniffle) sentimental early days when I had the fine fortune to reside in a foreign land – oh how I miss it!

    Like

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