SF Realtor

mr. realtor

I saw you sneak

Into that elder’s house

The other day while she

Was at her Doctor’s

Appointment

 

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

Place

 

With your eyes you

Tossed out, arranged

Rearranged, condemned,

Remodeled

 

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

couch?

 

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

That

 

Before I put

My foot in

Your narrow ass

 

© 2016 Tony Robles

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