Ever have one of those
Freudian
nonsensical
three-act nocturnal plays
where an overweight panda bear
treated you like her son
and you ended up searching
for days
weeks it seems
until you finally find your maternal heir
sitting at a Wendy’s
suckin’ on a swirl ice cream
with a meth head
who wears tattoos like jewelry?

You too?

Great news . . .
I thought I was the only one
who hid deep, dark secrets
in animal fur
hidden
for the whole world to see
in a fast food restaurant
on Main Street
U.S.A.

How did it end
the saga
of the
deadbeat mom
named Lulu?

I’d love to tell you
but according to your gold pocket watch
our session is
over –
unless you need to hear
what you want, what you
need
that will cost me
another piece of my head.

No problem, you say?

Good . . . because do I have another doozy for you.