SF Realtor

mr. realtor

I saw you sneak

Into that elder’s house

The other day while she

Was at her Doctor’s



You stomped your

Feet on the welcome

Mat then looked underneath

For the key


You then pried

The window open

And with much contortion

Of limbs you got inside


And with the grace of

An architectural digest

Slug, you cased the



With your eyes you

Tossed out, arranged

Rearranged, condemned,



And then you sauntered to that

Old 1950’s model refrigerator

And poured yourself a tall

Glass of ice tea


Then you went to the couch,

The one with the floral

Prints and unseen stains


You put your feet up on

That couch, shoes on, and

Stretched out for a spell


And even though the

Couch’s length was sufficient

For your supine carcass, you

Wanted even more space


In your quest for

More space, you kicked

Over a lamp


mr. realtor

before I insert my foot

in your ass, I ask


didn’t anybody ever

teach you not to put

your feet up on a person’s



That you don’t walk

Into someone’s home

Like you own the place?


The ice tea has brewed

For a long time, and was

Not intended for you


Think on



Before I put

My foot in

Your narrow ass


© 2016 Tony Robles

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