duck donut therapy

once,

when in turmoil,

emotionally, i went

to a therapist.

she had an office next to

the new Duck Donuts

establishment.

i told

the young therapist

my troubles.

relationship troubles

of course.

what else?

i noticed that she had

a box of duck donuts

beside her.

most of them were

maple glazed with

bacon.

want one, she'd offer,

holding 

the box out

as i lay on her futon

couch.

nah.

she appeared to be getting

larger and larger

with each session i attended.

she was no longer wearing normal

clothes, but large

bed sheets with a hole in them

to stick her head through.

after each donut,

she sucked

the tips of all her now

sausage sized fingers,

then would

write down her observations

about my babbling.

maybe you should get away,

she once told me.

you mean like move?

no, no.

maybe go to another continent

for a while,

and help people.

Africa, maybe.

you need a fresh start,

a new perspective on life,

digging latrines

for the less fortunate might

be soothing for your soul.

i nodded.

i'll think about it.

great, she said. are you sure

you don't want this last

donut.   coconut butter with

chocolate syrup 

and Marchino cherries.