Together let us browse the picture hangers.
Here on a hook, a cable and cord organizer.
 
A whole wall of hanging wrenches in red packages,
the word Crescent fifty times across each row.
Needlenose and spring, let us stroll aisle nineteen,
the hand tools and hammers.
See, on the end-cap, the stacked orange buckets?
I’ll meet you there, between the columns.
 
Essential as a toilet, private as a shower door.
 
We are on the Aisle of Moving, the Aisle of Paint.
Welcome to Ten Thousand Light Bulbs.
For the Key Center, follow the giant key.
How it swings from its chain on the ceiling
in the airs of the automatic doors.
 
Dearest, it is the hour of lumber.
Let us chat with the fellow shopper by the faucets.
We all want replacements, though her need is immediate.
This display makes no sense. Is there someone to ask?
The man says the model is missing its spout
but points at the box where the picture is complete.
 
And there’s a neighbor, on the way out.
He needs a certain kind of abrasive
which they do not have.
But really, he says, he doesn’t need anything
but an excuse to browse, this rainy afternoon.
Let’s stand here a while, by the adhesives.
No faucet for me, no sandpaper for him,
but I’m buying a doorknob to replace the one
that fell off years ago. Soon or someday,
I will install it, but for now, friends,
in its plastic pack complete with necessary screws,
I present it to you. For you, may it open many rooms.

Molly Tenenbaum

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