Archives‎ > ‎Issue One‎ > ‎

Peter J. Greico


I wish I could write more sweetly
of my life these days.  There’s lots of it
that’s not half bad.  The work,

the involvement, my own bit of romance. 
But whatever it is that haunts me
still haunts me.  The discomforts of Seoul

in its best season, the daily stress & strain
of a city from hell, inhabited by a truly
inscrutable people, this place

without ten minutes peace, forces me
into a sort of active loneliness,
all too hard to describe.


The Zen of selling was told by a Venetian girl: 
She used to sell swords in San Marco.  She never
sold a shaving mirror, till one day she sold four. 
There’s a kind of energy, you see,
the kind that brings us together
this evening, spontaneously.  Another
time she was selling expensive bible sets,
for weeks without luck.  Then she took
an intensive training course.  One must learn
to read the dream of each person, her house,
her character, a stray photograph—& convince
her that fulfillment is in what she
is being sold.  It worked!   She enjoyed
visiting many families, as many as 20
in a day, reading their dreams.  Then
one day a man answered the door
who had been running the vacuum cleaner. 
The Venetian girl had always wanted one like that. 
No problem, the man’s brother-in-law sells them
door-to-door.  She must have one! 
It was the Zen of selling.