DOUBLE DEALING

My father, a "commercial traveller"
got around on an old bike with his attaché case, 
believing in, and flogging, the genius of Arthur Mee.
Perhaps my mistake was not turning up in Tombland,
Apollo in pursuit of Daphne,
for it was a dull affair:
me on foot, with my leather briefcase, 
popping in and out of shops, as polite as nine pins, 
and hoping that my natural charm and intelligence would do the trick.

A nice lady, dwarfed by a mountain of old books sent me to Bruce:
"Tell him I sent you".Amazing! I had lift off.
And when I found him waiting, (or so it seemed) just beyond the perfumery,
my proportions were biblical.
Free delivery, sale or return, and fifty-fifty on the cover price.
This and a complimentary copy, graciously accepted, 
                                                                  Bruce would take to the buyer.
And they would be in touch.


He was there with a coterie of his friends, who knew his life's history,
                                                                             and laughed at his jokes. 
And I was there on late night market research, and the choice was, 
                                                                                                 "red or white?"
And I liked him, for his evident warmth and humanity, and his reading:
                                                                                                    a last hurrah!
Though I worried, somewhat, at the over arching presence of his alma mater.
And, "surely", it was suggested, on the dust-cover, he will endure:
alongside Hardy, Frost and Edward Thomas.

I sent a message via their website, and in the absence of a reply, called in,
timing my appearance so as to have maximum impact.
Free delivery, sale or return, and fifty-fifty on the cover price.
But not before offering my poems, (self-published) for review, 
and an assurance, that come what may, I would welcome a response.

I had served my time on the High Street, on Saturday's past.
"Ban the Bomb!" "Stop Nuclear Trains!" and while you're at it, 
                                                                                     the arms trade.
A grotesque way to earn a living - parents, packing shrapnel.
And the passers by, to their credit, and to your face, would tell you,
                                                             what they thought of it, and you!
But now that I was flogging myself, and daring to challenge the status quo;
they too, had a script, and they were sticking to it.
_______________ 

© Cormac E McCloskey
5th June 2012

"they too, had a script, unspoken, and were sticking to it." This line has been re-written as "unspoken" devalues what is clearly implied in the poem. Cormac 31 01 2013