in the self-help aisle of Barnes & Nobles

in the self-help aisle of Barnes & Noble

I ask him where to find

a late-night bowl of mac-and-cheese

(the kind

that comes with powder), and he

looks somewhat confused and inquires

about the author’s name.

I try again: Okay, I say,

perhaps you’ll point me to a couple hours

of Autumn on a mountain porch, with sky

that’s punctuated by a rolling line

of balding heads

and wind-stripped birches where a nut-fat squirrel climbs

to whisper secrets with his scraping claws.

We have Twelve Rules for Life

he says, or Taking Control

of Diet, and asks me if

I’ve heard of Carol Dweck.

   He’s old,

confused, I remind myself.

One last exasperated try: Surely you have forks

that slip through key-lime pie? The end-line of a poem? A shelf

of wooden knick-knacks

in a small-town antique shop?

Firm grapes?

      

        -published in Better Than Starbucks