Ask Mabel

My online inbox overflows.

Snail mail covers my table.

Everybody wants my opinion,

so, they write to “Ask Mabel.”

Should I dump him or hug him?

Mabel, is she stringing me along?

Does the fork go on the right or left?

Tell me, Mabel, am I right or wrong?

Dear Mabel this, Dear Mabel that;

this advice columnist gig is crazy

for a 50-year-old chain smoker;

but my public pic is young and sexy.

Oh dear, here’s another one from her.

Once a week this Boston woman writes

she can’t find love and is beset by fears,

asking, “Mabel, what is your advice?”

She is deathly afraid of being an old maid,

so, I’ve told her to find hobbies, to ease up,

to not overthink, to give her plants a drink,

and for company, I told her to get a pup.

But here she is yet again, writing,

“Dear Mabel, I met a nice man from Ohio

at a paper airplane hobby convention

But he said, ‘You smell, and I gotta go.’

“Oh, Mabel, what if he was the ONE?

And that’s not all. My plants drowned

and my pup ran away. What do I do?”

Signed, “Lonely in Beantown.”

For the umpteenth time I begin

my reply, typing, “Dear Lonely,”

but I pause for a light bulb moment,

and I craft advice to help her and me.

I continue, “First, take a nice shower,

then, forget the pup and plants, and prepare

to move to Ohio to pursue your dreamboat

and write to the advice columnist there."