The Allbritten Man

The Allbritten man comes twice a year.
He rings the doorbell, slips cotton
booties over his no name shoes,
and hands me a generic white business card
in a polite, quiet whisper. Within minutes
I covertly begin questioning his assertive cologne.
I mean what service man needs to smell as
conspicuous as a brook singing in a summer wood?
I am certainly insane, and deeply inhale.
Exactly what sort of a woman do you think I am?
The air waits for me, thank you very much,
until after I sign contractual paperwork,
– until after his flimsies come off, – and he’s
gone. I smell the apropos air-conditioning man.

::

for Real Toads

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14 thoughts on “The Allbritten Man

  1. Oh this is brilliant, Angie ❤️ especially “Within minutes I secretly begin questioning his assertive cologne. I mean what service man needs to smell as conspicuous as a brook singing in a summer wood?” made me chuckle 😉 Beautifully rendered.

    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

  2. This made me smile, at the hidden wildness behind the business-like situation–very well-played. Most men’s colognes are really vile, so when a good one comes along, enjoy it, I say.

  3. I couldn’t help but laugh at the incongruity of the situation. Your timing is perfect in the delivery of lines.

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