What Sells… Poem by Hebert Logerie

Everything is for sale.
There is always a sale.
Everybody is trying to sell
Something:
One tiny thing, one giant thing,
The tabloid,
The latest android,
The newest asteroid,
And something in between.
Somebody is simultaneously
Trying to sell the queen,
And offer her exotic ants,
For a lot of money.
This is not funny, somebody wants
To sell the queen a painting,
A castle, and a golden tent;
These are more appropriate.
It is never too late
To recover, to renounce.
Do you know that one ounce
Of something that is sold in the streets
Can generate a lot of honey?
And then when one get caught, it is not funny
To say that one is sent to a few unpleasant retreats.
Everything is now for sale
Somewhere in the universe.
And I am not telling tale,
The world is quasi-immersed
By trash or junk to sell.
Garbage sells like hot breads.
Books that deal with crime,
Sex, prostitution, hot beds,
Lies, corruption, and slime,
Become best sellers,
However, the ones that rhyme
Are either thrown in the incinerators
Or burnt in the cellars.
Films with bad actors,
Immature titles,
And strange battles,
Sometimes reach the highest numbers,
And before you know it, they are forgotten
Like the blonde who scored ten
In the last unscrupulous pageantry.
Everyone wants money,
And most refuse to earn it
The old fashion way through sweat,
Tears and loosing a lot of sleep.
One must know how to beat the beep,
In order to make it.
Everything is for sale.
There is always a sale.