American Life in Poetry

I may be a little sappy, but I think that almost everyone is doing the best he or she can, despite all sorts of obstacles. This poem by Jonathan Holden, past poet laureate of Kansas and poet in residence at Kansas State University in Manhattan, introduces us to a young car salesman who is trying hard – perhaps too hard.

Car Showroom

Day after day, along with his placid

automobiles, that well-groomed

sallow young man had been waiting for

me, as in the cheerful, unchanging

weather of a billboard – pacing

the tiles, patting his tie, knotting, un-

knotting the facade of his smile

while staring out the window.

He was so bad at the job

he reminded me of myself

the summer I failed

at selling Time and Life in New Jersey.

Even though I was a boy

I could feel someone else’s voice

crawl out of my mouth,

spoiling every word,

like this cowed, polite kid in his tie

and badge that said Greg,

saying Ma’am to my wife, calling

me Sir, retailing the air with such piety

I had to find anything out the window.

Maybe the rain. It was gray

and as honestly wet as ever. Something

we could both believe.