The Salesman Poem by Irene Cunningham

‘Let me clean your carpets
your toes will think they’re in Persia’
His top lip stretched
and crumpled, stretched
and kissed.
I sorted my face into a quiet smile
the one my mother used.

‘Be bad luck to say no’
He had wrists
like emergency room doctors’
long brown hairs curled
at the strap of his watch
I couldn’t get away
from the thought of his fingers
inside me.

‘I’ll trim your hedge then’
His eyes kissed my feet
tossed
a laughing mouth
into the shade.

‘You’ve a couple of loose tiles’
It was cooking on the step
a breeze sauntered through the house
and flapped cotton against my legs.

‘I could save your life’
He leaned nearer
and spread his hands
under my eyes.
I watched the sun spin
on gold sleepers
while the smell of me seeped
out of the neck of my dress.

(Published in Iron Magazine 1995)