At the coffee shop, a young black man in glasses
asked if he could plug his laptop
into the same outlet that charged my typer.
While he pulled the cord out of his backpack,
I asked if he had homework.

‘No," he said. "I'm looking for a job.’
‘What kind of job?’
‘Any job,’ he said
and let out a desperate kind of snort
usually only heard from older men,
humiliated by the world,
beaten down by life.

‘****'s tough out there, kid.’
‘I know the platitudes,’ he said.
He then stuck his nose into the screen.
I walked up to the counter for a refill,
to give the boy a little space.

The new generation,
they know how to use words
like platitude, but they can’t earn
enough for a home and internet
to avoid the men who use them
in place of real solutions.