so one day I appointed my inner child to be my psychiatrist
but I didn’t have a lemonade stand or a suburban roadside
so I set her up in the old wicker washing basket by the back door
she sat in there with her long fair hair full of dried leaves & busy insects
frowning among the muddy socks & grubby shirts
with a small sign written in crayon pinned to the handle – the psychiatrist is in – & then
I sat down cross-legged in front of her on the kitchen floor & she recoiled
as if she’d seen a month-old cucumber liquifying in the bottom of the fridge
or someone pulling their lower eyelid really far down so you can practically see their insides
pretty much their actual flesh
& she said jesus christ, you look really old!
I wouldn’t have minded – although, actually, I did mind – but
she proceeded to charge me four pence for this unpleasant
yet accurate observation
this is the same as a nickel
later I wondered how she knew what the exchange rate was but
when I went to ask her
INDENTINDENTINDENTshe’d gone
INDENTINDENTINDENTINDENTINDENT&
all that was left was half a sticky red lollipop covered in cat hair
I noticed that one of every pair of socks was gone &
someone had crossed out the word ‘in’ & replaced it with the word ‘out’