Inconsequentials and their associates
rear up, and you begin
writing down presenting symptoms
for your analyst, an Adlerian,
on sabbatical in Bimini.
You’ve dreamed of (dreaded?) this moment
for what, 10, 15, 20 years?
And of course the riff raff, accolades,
and, let’s not forget, the rush.
The angles of involvement begin -
a white-water-white-knuckle affair.
You panic and pack, withholding nothing,
consulting your jottings
with jittery fingers
the elements of reference out the window
and through the woods,
to grandmother’s house.
If only you had taken the time
to steel yourself against the moment -
the moment as anticipated, as rehearsed,
the moment now presiding
from the corner of your small, stuffy room,
teasing you, locking the door,
shouting, scribbling on the walls,
taking you back
to that theme park whose rides,
though fun for most,
were, for you, night terrors.
