Plymouth Duster

To the man who tried to sell me life insurance out the back of his Plymouth
mouth agape cheshire grimace begging me for one more minute
trouser snake hunting in the thin folds of his denim lolling on with his gimmick
me distracted
pondering the finish of each poorly designed poorly contrived sentence
him stretching the truth like some athletes stretch their tendons
I felt his pain
(in that moment)
I felt his tension
I knew his mission

he had come to claim his place on the throne of heaven
he had come because he was promised a holy ascension
but because I couldn't afford any life insurance
I didn't listen
sent him off with Momma's three-day-old biscuits
shook my fist in the air and dismissed him

now I simply miss him
long to kiss him
suck the gin from his lips and subsist in a pit with him
if I had to
I'd make do
linger in his perfume
be moved to consume his voodoo
love him until all life on earth is through

love him
love him
love my boo
in that chalky blue Plymouth Duster with the rust holes you can see right through.

TA