To My About-To-Be-Ex-Therapist- Poetry by Caolyn Martin

TO MY ABOUT-TO-BE-EX THERAPIST


About our session this afternoon, I’m confused:
you diagnosed my ergophobia with sadness 
in your voice. No offense, but after 40 years 
of Type-A overdrive, I’ve earned this new paradigm. 
Put this in your notes: I’ve replaced chronic threats
of nothing-to-do with perfected laziness.
My fear of boredom? Relieved by mindfulness.
From my ergonomic chair, I spend hours 
tracing the texture of walls and studying 
slight tilts of Chinese serigraphs.
I’m happy to report the woman side-saddling
the panther’s back hasn’t slipped off yet
and the lotus pond hasn’t flooded our family room.
As for the cobwebs swaying behind the étagère?
They haven’t ceased to captivate. Anyway,
thanks for helping me define work as what
I say it is. My business suits and black pumps
are up for grabs at Goodwill; my office files
free of contracts, flight plans, and syllabi.
I’m noodling with a blog about the joys 
of nothing much. Maybe you’ll subscribe.


DEAR BILLY COLLINS


If I told you I have four collections of my own,
you would politely nod and act impressed – 
you with your fifteen, reams of awards, 
and videos on well-lit platforms
where you never need to adjust the mic
because its height is designed for you –
as is the lectern and semi-comfortable chair 
where you sit with a practiced host 
who asks questions I’ve memorized the answers to.


That’s because I’ve tracked your You-Tube clips
repeatedly for insights, inspirations or, 
if Truth nudges me hard enough, excuses
to avoid Googling great cities of the world
for images to upscale a mediocre poem
that refuses to say where it wants to go.  


You, on the other hand, never fail to disappoint –
like the feral cat who strolls across 
the patio and swats the sliding door
or the flicker who delights in my suet cake. 


I count on certain things: that noncommittal pet,
an orange feather lying in the grass, and your glasses
that may – or not – stay on your nose
while you read from The Rain in Portugal
or from Sailing Alone Around a Room – 
a nautical activity, I’m not ashamed 
to admit, I practice when no one’s home.

Carolyn Martin

Find Carolyn Martin’s, Penchant for Masquerades on Amazon

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