Dion's Therapy Appointment

Somewhere down underneath the cushions of the couch of existence
are the tiny coins of happiness,
the left over tissues of abandoned grief.

Somewhere, lying on that divan of introspection,
Dionysus, the only god with a drinking problem,
has his therapy.

"When did you first feel the expectations of pleasure

[the Merrythanksgivingrockwelllexus
inthedrivewaywhitepicketfenceofitall]

were too much?"
Apollo asks, sitting with his steno pad.
The patient shrugs the answer.
This is the Olympian Court Mandated therapy.

The unfairness of it all--
death of mother at father's hand,
father's attempts to mother him,
subsequent abandonment by father--
"I wanted life to be simpler.
It's not fair that this is all there is.
Why can't it be more comfortable?"
He sips a martini.


"Patient level of entitlement increased,"
jots the Counselor
as he checks the time on the sundial.