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Primer Mom slides two bucks into the beat cop’s palm to ignore her Chevy by the hydrant, then goes to her weekly manicure. Dad’s sawbuck buys the checker’s wink at the way-bill he should clock for unbilled items, like the hams chucked in our truck along with our order on the loading dock. Yeah, two-bit bribes, but they knead and mould the plastic mind of an eight-year-old. 12
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Impostor Syndrome An hour south of Wall Street, past tulips, toddlers on swings, cyclists, runners, Frisbees tossed by girls in shimmering orange shorts, I walk to the Institute library to borrow the Shorter OED laid by to welcome my stay. A lay guest here before, haunted by my familiar hissing You have no business in this place, today a librarian’s courtesy, and spring, muffle that devil at my ear until it’s almost impossible to hear You’re a wannabe from a trading floor. 13

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Primer

Mom slides two bucks into the beat cop’s palm to ignore her Chevy by the hydrant, then goes to her weekly manicure. Dad’s sawbuck buys the checker’s wink at the way-bill he should clock for unbilled items, like the hams chucked in our truck along with our order on the loading dock. Yeah, two-bit bribes, but they knead and mould the plastic mind of an eight-year-old.

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