I step onto the sunporch & ring the bell.
It is still early; she guards her body
behind the door and pulls away the bolts.
She knows who I am, takes a brush from my hand,
& caresses the bristles as I enter the house.
I ask if she has tried our skin cream.
She says no, so I lather her with it.
I demonstrate the spatula, brushes,
combs and cleaner as we glide across
the floor on her well oiled spine.
I try to sell my seasonal items,
but her husband calls down to her for coffee.
I gather my goods and straighten my tie.
Stepping into the street I realize:
I have sold her nothing.
Some say Stuart Dischell’s reputation will skyrocket with the publication of his first book, Rising Tired. (Fall 1974)