I’d like to propose
A toast
To the last
Encyclopedia salesman
In Grand Rapids, Michigan
I know you still have
Two volumes
Of ‘Pa - Par’
And a ‘Qui’
But nobody finishes up
With an empty larder
Do they?
And nobody finishes
When they want to
I know you thought
You had another year
And one more round
Around Grand Rapids
Selling paper facts
And lugging tomes
Of trivia
Around town
It’s funny how abrupt
Progress can be
When it decides
The present
Is no longer present
You are no longer
A current element
Of life here in Grand Rapids
But you and your profession
Remain noble to us
The doorsteps
You stood on
And the doorbells
You rang
And we
Salute you
And we pledge
Our apologies
For never answering
When you rang
Never opening
Our doors
Or purchasing
Your wares
Perhaps if we had
We’d have one more
Piece of our ever-changing lives
Remaining constant
Instead we have computers
And the Internet
And message boards
Which give us all
The tidbits
We could ever dream of
What would we need
You for now?
Surely, the World Wide Web
Can be trusted
To tell us everything
We need to know
But the charm
Of your pitch
The crispiness
Of your bowtie
The lack of sweat
You perspired
As you trod
From house-to-house
In the summer heat
Begging us to consider
Completing the alphabet
Only half-finished
On our mantels
And shelves
You assured us
There was more
More to learn
More to read
More to educated ourselves on
Every so often
You’d wear us down
And we’d buy
One or two tomes
Knowing full well
That by the time
We’d be able
To complete a set
They’d be outdated
And we’d have to start
All over again
In that way
You should have had work
Forever
And yet…
Ah well
We salute you
And drink to your health
Whichever future
Awaits you
In Detroit
Or Milwaukee
Or maybe even--
Chicago
We wish you well
And that which
We didn’t know
Until now
We’ll seek to learn
From here on out
In whatever way
We can
Cheers
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