Final Session with the Psychologist

by patrick wright

How to end your feud? Move towards detente.

Or was your wish to kick God in the shin lenient?

You’ve said you’d spit at him in the eye.

Would a neutron bomb even satisfy?

If you met him, you’d mete out vengeance:

with nunchucks or a knuckle duster?

But nature can decide to metastasise —

just as dandelion seeds drift like parachutes.

Stop barking at the moon. No answer to why?

Yes, we’re screwed. The heavens have no alibi.

Stop shaking your fist at the sky. Let go —

let your bag of hornets burst from the tie.

Let your chest rise and fall; it’s no absolution.

Endure the fog. Let him dodge your wad of spit

mid-air.

If acceptance makes you choke, wear it like a skewer

through your tongue.

Let the lightning come. It’s already struck you twice.

Lay down your guns. The world is full of orphans

and widows.