I wrote this poem about a year ago. I was reminded of it recently when I came home to another set of refrigerator magnet note pads touting a local agent. I have so many of them. It is an awful poem. But the note pads are great. I chop off the picture and name of the agent and use the paper to make my notes. The following of which are some:
I love real estate agents.
Were it not for them,
I doubt some of my stuff
Would ever be written.
I come home somedays
And find, stuck on my door
These wonderful little pads of paper,
Touting a local agent.
I am not interested in selling
The house, only my soul,
And if you would read my lines
The paper's worth is proved.
Just really awful stuff. But I will post it here to let you know that I do think of really weird things.
D.
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