Therapy – a scabrous poem

© Brendan Georgeson

I had to go for therapy the other week
With a man who lives down the end of our street.
Now it’s not cause I’ve gone soft in the head
Or cause I can ‘t get out of bed
I’m not listening to Nine-Inch Nails
And I haven’t gone off the rails,
NO
It’s cause me girlfriend says I’m ‘emotionally unavailable’
and she’s not sleeping with me till I’m able,
so if I ever want to have sex again
I’ve got to see this therapist called Ben.
So off I went a bit confused -
I didn’t know me girlfriend had been to Venus
And that I’m from Mars cause I think with me penis.
Well I got there and what a sight
Ben looked like he’d been up all night.
He wore jumbo cords and smoked a pipe
A tatty tweed jacket – he smelt a bit ripe.
I said before you start
I don’t want to have sex with me mother
And what the fuck is a significant other?
He said, “I want to validate your feelings
And affirm your search for meanings”
I said, “are you trying to chat me up?
Cause if you are me girlfriend ‘ill beat you up!”
He said, “no I want to help you with your issues,
I want you to reach out”
and then he passed me the tissues.
I said “what are those for then?”
“For stuff coming up” said Ben.
I said “thanks” and blew me nose
“and by the way are those teddy bears yours,
and why’s that mattress next to them draws?”
He said, “you’re in denial stop deflecting
Your gestalt needs projecting”.
I’d had enough,
so I decided to confront him with HIS issues,
he broke down so I passed him the tissues,
told me his mother never loved him
and how the other kids used to bully him,
then he went to look for his inner child in a cult,
I said, “you wanna look for your inner adult!”
And with that I got up and walked out,
fuck knows what all that was about,
but I just want to thank Ben
cause now I’m getting my leg over again!