Your voice is a therapy
the phone static crackle of bad
parts to let you pour through the
pinpoint speakers,
reminding me that the medical credit card is mounting and
$150 for 30 minutes of professional listening
might be a bit steep.

So I listen to
our faults our unfixable flaws
breathing in the antidepressants
hidden in your syntax
the southern lilt of your tone draping over
my shoulders like a shawl
forgetting that you
swipe a credit card for this while I get what can only
be called
speech therapy –
your speech is therapeutic;
I cave in on myself as you say I am
missed this is 750 mg of hydrocodone
I feel moderated
(highs too low, lows too high)
when you tell me all the times you remembered me – a
clinical overdose of cymbalta;

the caffeine plummeting
straight for an overloaded aorta
– a line of cocaine –
because self medication seems the
only alternative,
I tell you I think I might
need some Real Help this time
and you remind me
that they’ll catch up to you one day and
$150 for 30 minutes of
professional life-saving

Just isn’t in the budget this month.


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