no charge

you see your therapist
at the local
bar, in a dark corner
by herself. she's sobbing
into her hands.
you go up to her and
ask her what's wrong.
everything she says,
not startled by seeing
a patient outside
the office. she's drinking
scotch on the rocks.
a pack of cigarettes
is on the bar,
next to her cell phone.
she's taken off her
wedding band too,
which sits beside her
drink, wet in an
icy puddle. I know
you she says, don't
I. you're a patient
of mine, are you the one
scared of the dark,
or is it bridges.
you laugh, no you say.
i'm the one who whines
about his ex wife
and his mother. oh, right,
she says, you never
felt loved. yeah.
that's me. Tuesdays
at 7, right she says,
taking a gulp of her
drink. yeah, you say.
well, get over it, quit
being a baby, man
up and move on with your
life. she wipes
a tear out of her eye.
come back to me when you
have a real problem,
okay? okay. you tell
her. I will. in fact
that's the best advice
you've given me in months.
no charge she says.
now leave me alone.
I've got problems too.