The Constant Salesman

By Matthew A O’Shea


Enough of the repeated vibrations of a cell phone,
of the lack of vibrations from a cell phone,
of empty inboxes in empty homes,
of full inboxes in empty homes,
of unexpected bills, pouring through doors,
of the unexpected running out of pills,
of the ticking of digital clocks,
Enough of the endless knocking.

Mock the salesman.
Ignore the scratches, find safety in static.
In the low hum of background noise.
In laugh tracks, in old hacks, in new quacks,
in the constant clacks of keys.
Find the mechanical, find routine, find ease.
Fill the chap, fill the chap, fill the chap.
Drown out the chapping.

I click my pen to the tick,
tock, of the clock
and hope the spring

Matthew A O’Shea is currently having his existential crisis in Scotland. He studies Philosophy and Theology at Glasgow University, which he believes isn’t helping. You can find him on Twitter and Instagram.

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