I sold a postcard and a book today.
Before you tell me that’s woop-de-do
and there are people living on the street
who made more asking strangers if they had
a little extra change that they could spare,
I’ll tell you just exactly why I’m rich.
The woman asked if I would sign the card.
She has a friend, a birder, who is sick
and who collected postcards such as mine
that featured birds from all around the world,
and mine would be the only one that had
been signed, that had the artist’s signature.
The card, including tax, was just a buck,
but what I made was worth much more than that.
I’d made two people happy with that card.
The bestiary book I’d made for me.
It doesn’t have your ordinary cats
and birds and dogs and other animals.
The poems aren’t exactly for the kids.
They’re written for the parents reading them,
to keep the parents entertained while they
are reading to their kids. It’s not a book
that anyone would ever think would sell.
And yet another copy sold today.
And now I have to order more. Again!
My goofy little book’s a hit. I’m rich.