WHAT THE SHRINK TOLD US

When we commit the boy to the clinic
we strip the parents of all illusions.
When we commit the boy to the clinic
we say to the parents you must learn too.
When we commit the boy newspaper ink
of all the world’s stains comes off on your hands
and school will seem quite useless. Love never
felt so stupid, so dim as now. Driving
turns your car into a battering ram
if you’re not careful, watch it. A backhoe
might attack you in the bathroom, brushing
your teeth with its claws. Breakfast won’t be safe
and your job might scream like crazy homeless
people or your son. What I’m saying is
when we commit the boy to the clinic
expect these things and more. The sky will pour
a steady rain of hacksawed memories—
washed down gutters, sloshed to curbs, and sewered.
These forms you must fill out. And these. These too.