An ode to the Kirby vaccuum cleaner salesperson

Oh, young Kirby vaccuum saleman.
Why do you break my heart?
You come to my door, all sad and shaken;
Two hours later, you still won’t depart.

Convinced that my house is cased,
I still cannot bear to dimiss you.
You push the around the self-propelled base,
You guilt us with dirt that we missed, too.

Baking soda you spread
All over our carpet.
You vaccuum it up like a pro.
Then you go up to our bed
And suck the filth off it;
How strange for a demo to go.

Then you make a call on your phone,
Making fake talk with your boss.
Before we know it, you’re not alone.
And suddenly, we’re talking the cost.

Three thousand dollars? That’s a bit steep.
That’s more than my Mac; no twice!
Then you say that it’s half off; so cheap!
But likely that’s still overpriced.

If he closes now, he will
Win a trip to Arizona.
(Doesn’t sound too appealing, you know.)
Sorry! Too steep a bill.
Just go, and I’ll phone ya,
Still, my answer is, “No.”

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