It takes one to know one.

story poem

It takes one to know one.

 

Smart city folk confuzzles I

They use big words and talk too fast.

I be quite old and not too spry.

They say that they are out to buy.

Old furniture that’s built to last

But when I asks they don’t say why.

 

They are convinced I’m none too bright

A country yokel they can fool.

I choose to let them think they’re right

They want to buy I want to sell

But only if the price is right

They will believe the tale I tell.

 

The oak dresser is very old

Perhaps two hundred years or more.

I had much more but it’s all sold.

They are prepared to cheat and lie

and profit from my ignorance.

So I will sell and they will buy.

 

A piece of junk that’s worth much less.

Than the price that we agree

When they find it won’t impress

 the guys they hope to sell it to.

Who’ll spot at once it is a fake.

I’ve done what I intended to.

 

I’ll profit from their ignorance

They’re not as smart as what they think.

They never really stood a chance.

I told the truth it was the last

one of the last container load.

I’ll have place an order fast.

 

Cheap fakes I import from abroad.

They come by the container load

We played the game I won they lost

I think I can claim victory

It’s up to them to count the cost

Nobody makes a fool of me.

 

They took me for a simpleton.

A part that I play very well.

If they return I shall be gone.

I have another batch to sell

To sell to city slickers who

will try to make a buck at my expense

 

They want to buy so I will sell.

They’re lacking in experience.

I’m not the fool they take me for.

That’s how I fool them easily

I’ve been around I know the score.

I let them think they have fooled me.

 

They fool themselves consumed by greed.

Prepared to cheat an honest man

That’s why they fail and I succeed

Because they are convinced they can

Persuade me of their honesty

I baint the fool they think I be.

 

Sunday, 25 September 2011http://blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

Reviews

[Greg the Bard]

To true to be wrong because one is born every minute. I like this very much.

[Robin]

P.T. Barnum would smile along with this poetic caveat emptor