White-shirted (not blue)
they approach in twos:
Excuse me Sir, a small
moment of your time?
Soft-selling eternity &
the clean-cut hereafter.
The boyish accent downloads
the serious side of the
American dream, eyes fixed
computer bright. The other
is slower, slope-shouldered
& discipled, backgrounded
by a blandished brain.
As a child, when the God
was always friendly,
big as a house, long as a
street & the day endless,
the knock upon the door
signalled: Excuse me
young man, is the lady of
the house in? Welcome
the suitcased salesman; the
Bon-Brush Man: big-bristled,
wooden-backed scrubbing
& bottle brushes, sandsoap
& Brasso for hard domestic
usage. Not now. These two
modern peddlers head out
to the brick bungalows of
the inner city suburbs
selling the Light & the Way,
galloping round the outer
handicapped districts;
brainwashed right-wing angels
confident as professional
sportsmen on a World Tour.