Requiem For A Realtor

This lease has expired

Photo by Daryan Shamkhali on Unsplash

Requiem For A Realtor

Poetry by Spyder Darling

I didn’t even know he was sick

Till John came over with the news

Gordon was dead

No wonder he wasn’t returning my calls

Gordon’s was a real salesman’s death

Right up to the end

He was wheeling, dealing

Telling endless stories about little old landladies

And generally being impossible to get off the phone

Though I never met him

Or saw his picture

I’ll miss that balding, overweight

Cigar chomping son of a bitch

No matter what he looked like

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