Used Car Salesman

He only sells cars that
Went on beautiful road trips.
When you ask about the blue one,
He knows all about the cross-country

Spin two buddies took it on.
He pulls you into the shade
And gabs all afternoon
About how they sped

Across minimalist landscapes,
Distracting themselves
With immense vistas so as
To forget the cruelty of creatures.

The salesman uses
Tender adjectives to
Describe how they silently
Coasted through towns

They never saw again,
Looking for nothing in particular
Now that they had given up
On achieving their dreams.

Whizzing past landscapes that
Were bigger than their lives,
They finally loved inanimate objects
Now that they realized

They wouldn’t find the perfect
Lovers they once expected.
The salesman can write a memoir
About every parking lot the car

Quietly cooled down in while its
Passengers slept beside the
Scent of motel drawers.
He can even tell you

What they tried not to
Dream about in their sleep,
But knows you came to buy
A car and don’t really care.

That’s why he tells you
About a great deal
Good only for today:
Twenty percent off any clunker,

But only if you promise
To take it on beautiful road trips,
Then write to him about
The indelible things you pass.