Hardwood Floors

Peppered mustache,
if we're talking tan flakes instead of black,
sauntered us through like he rode in on a horse
- Wranglers, boots, button-down, and twang -
with a white diamond above it's snout,

bending at the knees to work the ache out.

The Mustache vanna whited the branched rooms,
nicotined,
snaking right down the middle,
barbed tongue darting in isochronal bursts.
The perfect living space from it's squinting perspective,
it follows us
finding canned meat and beans in the cabinets,
genuine salutations left for the one who signed the right forms.

Comfort shifts hips side to side from the weather
and the mouth beneath repeats the script above.

Mustache's going to get paid tonight.