Traveling inspires me in the best kind of way. In college, I took fancy, transformative trips to Buenos Aires, Argentina and Greece.
While out one night in Nafplio, Greece, I misunderstood a woman’s son’s career when she said her son was in medical sales.
This poem is the product of that mix-up:
The Body Part Salesman
“I am a girl who does know better, but…”
-John Berryman
He knocks on my door, flashes
a gummy smile and says I look
like I need parts replaced.
I know this guy’s crazy
but I say Come on in.
He sits, says he heard my knee
crack and thinks this probably
means a hip replacement.
He watches me pull my hair up,
sees that my left elbow doesn’t fold
like the right one. I think I don’t trust
him and the Donald Trump
tie, but I say Why don’t you show
me what’s inside your bag.
He says to replace a knee joint
before its time is like an everlasting
massage, and buy now because
the price will only go up.
He pulls out the parts—plastic-metal
elbows and titanium hip bones.
I think I’m too young to need this
but I say How much?
Do you buy the parts whole sale?
He tells me I don’t want to know,
and finally, I believe him. He says
business has been slow and he’s forced
to go door-to-door. Then he says
he’ll give me a deal: a hip and knee
combo if I let him stay the night.
I say no but he begs some and what’s
a girl to do.
© SRM 2008
This poem was a gift, and it reinforced that I “still had it.” I remember feeling that, before I had written this poem, that I wasn't feeling very inspired. Don’t most artists question themselves and their craft?
Next time, I will share two other ways that my Mediterranean trip inspired and influenced me.
And I leave you with a picture of the Pynx Hill, Greece:
-SM