by Ross D Tyler
He sits down.
He is ready.
He’s got his ‘counsellors hat on’.
But the client seems unhappy,
Finding chewing gum she sat on.
‘Sorry about the awful mess’ He says,
‘I haven’t got a bin.’
‘Would you like a glass of wine, or perhaps a tot of Gin?’
‘No thanks’ the client quietly declined,
‘Alcohol’s one my triggers.’
The counsellor nonchalantly gazed at the clock,
Attempting to conceal his snigger.
‘I’m off on a date in 45 minutes,
So don’t get too deep in the issue.’
‘And if you’re going to turn on the waterworks,
Be warned, I charge for tissues.’
And with that the counsellor slowly reclined,
Placing his feet on the table.
‘Well I can tell just by looking at you,
That you aren’t particularly stable.’
The client squirmed awkwardly,
Under the counsellors gaze.
‘Come on, let’s be having the problem,
I haven’t got all day!’
‘Well I’ve got to be honest’ the client advised,
‘This is all very new to me.’
‘Could you describe what we’re going to do?
To place my mind at ease?’
The counsellor yawned, scratched his head,
And picked some fluff from his knee.
‘Well I haven’t had much training,
But I can do some CBT?’
‘I’m not sure how it all works’ he said
‘But I once had it done to me.’
It was all to do with my bloody ex-wife,
After I chained myself to that tree.’
The counsellor, shuddered, and nervously coughed;
Grabbing the bottle of Gin,
He gulped back several mouthfuls of booze,
Dribbling most of it down his chin.
‘Are you alright?’ the client enquired,
‘You seem a little upset?’
‘Oh don’t worry’ the counsellor said under his breath,
As he lit a cigarette.
The client felt the counsellors’ pain,
His deep and profound sense of despair.
‘Would you like to talk it through,
With somebody who cares?’
The counsellor snuffled back a tear,
‘The problems quite extensive.
I could really use a tissue,
But they’re so bloody expensive!’
‘Anyway, Ms Jones’ the counsellor sighed,
‘We should be focussing on your life.
But I really would like to mention,
that you remind me of my wife.’
The client felt uncomfortable,
What made her walk though through the door?
She had never encountered a situation,
Quite like this before.
She felt the urge to suddenly run,
Wanting to leap to her feet.
If it wasn’t for the pesky chewing gum,
Which had stuck her to the seat.
‘So, let’s talk about your mother’,
The counsellor said with a whisper.
‘The case notes seem to reflect,
That she was in fact your sister?’
The client was stunned, her lips a gasp,
Her mind utterly confused.
‘Excellent!’ the counsellor cried with glee,
‘I see you’re delight in the news!’
‘I seldom get these things right y’know,
And judging by your reaction,
It seems like I’m right on course,
for 5 star customer satisfaction!’
The client paused, composing herself,
But hadn’t a clue what to say.
She knew she wanted to run for the hills,
Without any further delay.
‘You’re case notes appear to be muddled’ she said.
‘For my Name is Laura Jones.
I told you about my anxiety, yesterday
When I contacted you by phone!’
The counsellor frowned and studied his notes,
‘Are you certain that’s your name?
And as for the anxiety, well I don’t think I’m to blame!’
The client quickly leapt for the door,
With a sudden frantic scream,
Only the scent of her perfume remained,
And a torn off patch from her jeans.
‘Anxiety’ said the counsellor
‘Must be tough living with that.’
He polished off the last of the gin,
And removed his counsellor’s hat.
Last updated September 16, 2011