House of the Tomato

If a woman wants to be a poet, she must dwell in the house of the tomato. -- Erica Jong

Regional website for the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets, in partnership with the Reader's Loft.


Celebrating, sharing and inspiring poetry throughout Wisconsin.

The Sales Poet

The Sales Poet

I shake his enjambment.
His eyes are curious. I feel his humanity, warm in my palm.
He excuses the wait. I disclaim.
I am lead to an office above the garage,
to the other side of a stanza
where a chair is set.
I see roof lines, sky analogies.
For a tall man his voice is lilting.
I sell attention.
This is our first meeting,
but I have seen him in the general store,
sniffing handmade soap with his wife.
They have five children.
The business is a closed loop.
He is solicited for bucket trucks,
black earth removal, snow.
He has all the attention he needs.
Maybe he would buy interruption,
if his sons agreed.
I show him how interruption works,
the units of sale, the process
of placing an order.
He is polite, asks me pertinent
(and sonorous) questions.
He gives me a tour of the high concept,
the smell of newness like absorption,
rumble of loud engines.
I do not make a sale,
but I will write a poem
about his large hands
clasped like doves.

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