Lawrence And Herbert At The Dealer

That blasted dream again. I was in the neighbourhood where gangsters of big business and small sandwich shops compete. Six big ones in my pocket, hot and ready, still conversing with a well-used and colourful French handkerchief, combed cotton, the salesman wears his altruistic smile above the golden buttons over navy blue. 'You're in the market for a car? ' he rolls it of his agile fork-ed tongue, my absent nod directs itself not far where, in the showroom, right among other hopefuls stands a friendly figure sounds and looks familiar, pinstriped suit overhear him saying he wants something bigger with a cavernous (for bootleggers?) boot. Voice is cultured, teeth a shade of white then it dawns on me, it's poemhunter's star yes I'm sure I do remember, yes, I'm right it's Lawrence of P/H, called Pertillar. We start to reminisce at once and well, the dealership has never previously assembled in one big hall among the cars but not to sell no, to hear poetry from us, one salesman even trembled when the romantic stuff was next presented. And as time flew a crowd had gathered shyly, it was as if the enterprise had re-invented itself and all its minions for this highly and utterly fantastic new recitals so this went on for hours as they raved at last the Manager requested that all titles be written down and all the poems saved. The boss was youngish looking due to nips and tucks gray temples and blue eyes each arm a Rolex, he veritably smelled of greenbacks, meaning many bucks a dead fish handshake underlined his name, 'I'm Tex', and he invited us into the sanctum full of plush. Pulled out a couple forms and started writing while asking us 'you guys in any rush? ' He then proceeded, was in fact, surprisingly, inviting the two outstanding poets to accept and take a luxury, spitpolished motorcar, completely free of cost one each of course, Mercedes was the make. He chuckled when he saw that poets can be lost and have no words in store for some occasion. 'My father was the greatest poet in this land, he wrote a thousand poems like others write equations, and French chansons that none could understand, I've waited for this day like Jesus for his resurrection, and talent must be thoroughly appreciated. Today you've tickled me, the word is predilection and look at all the people here, so titillated.....'. We left that night, our asses pressing leather still wondering and humming 'you are mine', the cars would be a shock to Jan and Heather then the alarm went off, a voice said 'rise and shine'.