Dude

I stopped to buy a car.
Something sure and simple
with nice upholstery.
Rick, the salesman,
thought my name was Young Lady
though I corrected him often.
Sometimes he thought I was Gal
and often I reminded him of his wife
though none of her problems,
dislike of technical explanations
and fear of driving in the snow,
were my problems.
I countered.
I called him Dude.
I said man a lot
as in man you gotta be kidding.
Though well into his seventies
I told him he was a thoughtful lad.
I thought he was naive
he thought I was peculiar.
We parted, he with his commission
I with a car
and a reminder
that the old world
turns slowly.