Gearing Up for Weeks of Job- and Home-Hunting, the Prizewinning Poet Conducts a Self-Conversation

"I will have a Big Day today."
"Plus-sized. Morning 'til midnight."
"By noon eighty new people will know my name, and fear it."
"Important people."
"Full-time philanthropists. Men about town."
"Women about town."
"People with 'emeritus' in their job titles."
"People with gold-foiled business cards and watermarked letterhead that reads, 'From the office of...'"
"People who custom-order the catalogs that allow you to custom-order things."
"I will bump, serendipitously, into a midtown bricklayer whose cousin works on Oprah."
"Luck is on your side."
"On an elevator in Bushwick, I will offer a throat lozenge to David Remnick's receptionist."
"Chewing gum, also."
"Noticing an errant pigeon hovering above her in Central Park, I will gently shove a famous female out of the way of its descending feces."
"Who?"
"Until it's done, I can't be sure."
"Bring an extra résumé for her."
"I will have taken up pilates by sundown."
"Wearing shorts of a breathable, poly-nylon mesh."
"As I will it to be so, my core muscles will reform themselves."
"The instructor will make positive remarks using the words 'star,' 'pupil,' and 'almost superhuman agility.'"
"Utilities will be included, or else I will negotiate the price of rent to offset their exclusion."
"Bulleted craigslist factoids will affirm the appropriateness of cats and dogs."
"Purrr. Wooof."
"On-site laundry. True bedrooms. Brokers' fees laughed out loud at."
"Then: Beer?"
"Beer."
"I will have a Big Day today."