Poem by Bruce McRae


  Travelling Salesman Last of his kind, the world having changed greatly, mopping his brow in the heat, adjusting his soup-stained tie before coming to call upon the widow, the housewife, the spinster. That disheveled fellow leaning on your doorbell now, fidgeting on the stoop to the soundtrack of daytime television drifting under the eaves […]

Read More…