Flight of the Therapists

by Natty "Bumppo" Robles

DAD stopped the car, told us to get out
Look, he said, pointing up
First there was nothing but August blue sky
happy clouds grazing here and there

And then--there they came, a giant V-shape
dozens, hundreds, heading northeast--
My sister squealed, Is it geese?
No! my father yelled.
Penguins, I asked?
No! Look closer.

And then they passed overhead and we saw--
the clipped gray beards, the cardigans,
the sensible, nondistracting shoes,
the glint of the glasses.
Careful, Dad said, sometimes
one of them will drop a writing pad
and the spiral binding could take an eye out.

What does it mean? I asked Dad.
He lit a cigarette and slumped against the car.
The brilliant sunset reflected on the window behind him.
It means, son, that for a month
your mother's going to be a real handful.

(Previously published in Long Island Sounds 2007.)

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