hope insurance

in the bad timeline (which we are in)
soon we will all be traveling salespeople. 
little briefcases full of bibles & wings
& sometimes insurance booklets.
no one is home anymore because we are
all traveling salespeople so we knock on 
empty houses that the rich people make us
pay just to look at. 
sign here. pray here. sleep here. sometimes
we pass each other. we are not allowed to trade
but we do anyway. a chocolate bar
for a photograph. a bed for a kiss. a gun
just to hear someone sing. weeks ago
the hope insurance salesman came through town 
& was preaching at the fountains.
he said, "who will take care of you
when don't you believe things can get better?"
he is always claiming he can insure hope. 
it doesn't do anything but he's not a con artist.
just a man with too many teeth. 
i know a few people who pay him. i think
they need to believe someone will catch them
when they inevitably cannot keep this shit up
anymore. they flock to him to worship.
i avoid hope these days. not because i do not think
it is useful but because i do not know how
to keep it up. maybe i am jealous of them.
envious that they still have something to insure.
i come upon a house without any windows.
there are salespeople swarming it. someone of them
have gone wild & decided to step inside. they lay
on day beds & let the wind blow through like a flute. 
soon the police will come. they are
traveling salespeople too. they peddle silence 
in exchange for guts. i get away. i plug my ears. 
open my suitcase recklessly 
& watch the birds fly into the tangerine dusk sky. 
i can always catch more but for tonight i don't
have to have anything. across the street another
salesperson hums, thinking she's alone or else 
she knows i am here & she wants to share her sound.