Poem: The Salesman

We sell the parts you need or want,
an arm, an ear, some legs to flaunt.
Don’t ask us where our stores come from.
Try a spare eye? Some toes? A thumb?
I see, you’re a discerning sort.
Come in the back. A new import
has just arrived. You’ll have your pick.
Say what you’ll want; we’ll chop ’em quick.
Yes, follow me into the gloom;
come see what’s in the hidden room.