Ode to a FSBO

accompaniment

Sitting on a FSBO –
Watches passing cars with time to blow.
Sweat running down his nose –
Graspy fingers — dirty windows.
Grass dying in the cold sun –
Watching as the worried buyers run.
Feeling like a dead duck –
spitting out pieces of his broken luck.

~~~

Sun streaking cold –
a seller waiting lonely.
Biding time
the only way he knows.

Price dropping fast,
as he bends to pick some crab-grass –
he goes down to the curb
and scans for cars.

Feeling alone –
the Builder’s up the road
With freebies a la mode and
a cup of tea.

Aqualung my friend –
don’t you start away uneasy
you poor old sot, you see,
it’s only me.

~~~

Do you still remember
the Springtime’s selling freeze –
when the gloom that fell
on to the comps
was screaming agony.

And you clutch your bloated last comps
with sobbing flipper sounds,
and the sale signs bloom like
madness in the spring.