the intervention

when you come
home from work,
throw your keys
onto the table,
set your briefcase
down, the lights go
on and there they are,
waiting for you.
a dozen or so friends
and relatives, gathered
in a circle
with an empty chair
in the middle. someone
has made a pot of coffee,
someone has brought
crumb cake. they calmly
tell you, that everything
is fine, just sit,
please take a seat,
we care about you,
we love you, we
want to help you.
please sit. please,
don't be alarmed.
you look around
the room and then
make a mad dash for
the front door, but
your mother trips
you with her cane
and you go tumbling
to the floor.
they drag you to
the center of the room
by your feet and prop
you up. your dog
breaks through
the circle of chairs
and jumps into your
lap and licks
your face. stay put
someone says. please.
we want to help you.
this is all for your
own good. we do this
out of love, not
judgement. everyone
smiles and nods their
collective heads while
sipping coffee,
and then someone
begins to talk, standing.
it's a priest from
the nearby church
with his dark black
shirt and pants, and
stiff white collar,
and he says, we're
worried about you, all
of us gathered here
tonight. we only want
the best for you, to
get you well, you are
a single man, living
alone, so please tell us,
tell us why are you
so happy and content.
it's just not right.
what's wrong with you?