Holland Taylor shows up

in my worst moments.
She is sixty always
nursing one drink,
fifth on the credits,
first to call a spade a spade.

She sits on the board
of the foundation for trustees,
smells of light oak.
I am negotiating another breakdown
when she visits,
bends,
brightly tight
perm. Offers fifteen solutions,
prescribes a medicine they banned
in the 80s, says to see

DOCTOR FLOYD

for a quick fix, chick.

She has three scenes
of my life, at the beginning
I don’t take her advice but
this is the middle.
So I drive.