The auctioneer.(New poems)(Poem)

 
The auctioneer 
 
   Evening, ladies; evening, gents; 
      salute you by the dozen, embrace you by the score; 
   we've got things here worth fifteen cents 
      and others worth a million more. 
   Get your numbers, don't miss a chance 
      to bear the rifle Captain Brown once bore 
      or touch the lace that trimmed Miss Marilyn's underpants. 
   When playing cards were bare on back 
      folks filled 'cm in as invites to the local square; 
   now here's a photo that will pack 
      your venue with a hundred cats who'll dare 
   play the G-string on this human cello-- 
      this ain't the F-clef on a bowl of jello-- 
      Who'll give me ten? Ten! Make it twenty. 
   Sixty. Eighty. A hundred! No argument? 
      from me against this turbaned queen of the night! 
      Going once; going twice; sold to her lover on my right! 
 
   Draw close now, picture a real-life story 
      about the deal of your dreams that still hangs verily 
    ghost-like every day in squamous glory, 
      then sit at this early American secretary 
   where Great-great-grandfather Cat on his feline ass 
      signed the law that stopped rebellion in western Mass. 
   He who sits at this desk pilots the nation 
      on the wings of change ...