Therapy with a Cool

Old fashioned fart
Searching endless
            Dusty roads
            Into the past.
What are we looking for
            In this old pickup truck?
A grocery store?
I’ve fed there before.

I don’t believe in this crap –
This looking backward
            With the unlikely hope
            Of being able to see
            Forward
I wouldn’t be here
            But the winters came
            As I was walking along
            A desolate river bank
            Almost empty.

Why was I walking
            Since cool people fly?
Well, I was had
            By 19th century dads.
Trapped on
            The launching pad.

Mother Earth is a place
            For mere earthlings.
Besides,
You covered her with asphalt
            Converted her to plastic
            Divided her nuclei.
Even cool people
            Can hear her sigh.

Do you really expect me
            To be your way?
To hurt and feel
            And believe and see.

Or, as those existence folks say,
            To be.
To be committed
            To the good work and labor
            And all that knowledge.
Like man, aren’t bombs
            Always used
            On one’s neighbor?

And now
            You speak of commitment
            Past, present and future.
Sure man,
            Show me the pocket
            Where one can
            Merge wagons and pickup trucks
            With my rocket.

Take a look at me
            Can’t you tell?
I’m energized!
(That word should sell)
Like the atom
            I’m apart from it.
My energy comes
            From being split.

Being split,
            Don’t expect me to walk
            Past into present,
            Or present into “it.”

Yet, I wonder
You old fart – as we “Toil”
(that’s your word),
Tell me,
            Is there a difference
            Between
            Dirt and
            Soil?

This is a note about the outcome of Therapy with a Cool. This young man was a bright person who had flunked out of the 3rd year in medical school for this behavior and would be allowed to reenter if he was appropriately sanitized with therapy. He did not understand that short white coat and short sleeves did not equate with a long white coat with MD after his name. Taking liberties with the ladies on the Ob-Gyn floor while waiting for a baby to arrive was reserved for the long white coats. A number of other situations had been reported.. Additionally, he was proud of the part of his anatomy properly identified as the organ of reproduction. While this was not unusual, he had his own style. He did not pass this prized part around causally. He would spend several months with a lady, and causally announce| “I have found a better deal and am moving on.” During the time he was educating me and I was sanitizing him, he was with a neat young lady. About midyear {midstream, so to speak], he whistled home and, with her bags packed, she stated she found a better deal and was moving on. My last account was several years later. Each had completed their formal education and had a marriage that worked for them. I get little credit other than a slight grin as he reported her decision to move.