Richard Hoff

Richard Hoff, salesman
one of the best.
Some might find him oily.
Dickens, Hyde Dunn on his knee,
might weave him into a story,
an unctous Micawber.
O, but I've seen him
impelled, impelled I tell you,
with a longing so deep,
and wide and urgent to teach,
to arise independently.
O how that fit him,
like a glove,
skin-tight, itchy.
I've seen him itch to teach
like a smoker for the first puff of the day.
And this every day, like an obsessed gambler
anxious for another hand, just one more chance.
In his voice, I hear an echo of the Master's marhaba.
Marhaba! Are you happy?
I've felt his love, been smothered by it,
been uplifted with his encouragement.
And now, on your last leg of life,
let me ask you, Richard,
when you heard a scoff,
What were you thinking?

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