Heal

It’s not that I lie sleepless nights
Worrying about what we did wrong
But rather what we did too right.
Fruit for instance:  perhaps we shouldn’t have scoured that
McIntosh to mirror straight from the produce section,
Or special ordered the air purifier and dehumidifier,
Or rushed for the amoxicillin at first sniffle.

It’s not a question of loving you too much
But rather keeping you too clean, too safe from life’s detritus.
Of course we walloped the crap out of you in the divorce;
You’re still donning braces and slings from that bloody mess.
But I fear we overdid the psychoanalysis,
The reasonable talks at unreasonable times,
And the amphetamines we were assured would pinpoint your unlined mind.

Now a parent yourself, headed for your own marital maelstrom,
Better to break the cycle of shrink-pill-shrink,
Better to forgo the antibacterial soap
And opt to wipe the hands haphazardly on pant legs.
That oatmeal muffin you’re about to bite into?
Do me a favor: let it fall to the ground.  Count to ten.
Now pick it up and eat it.  Trust me.  It’s good for you.