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It must be ingenuity that is behind the science
of fiddling with the workings of the insides of our minds.
Practitioners peek in to look, expecting your compliance
in follow-up, which means 'to treat', whatever they may find.
My dear old Aunt, she always said if you are walking straight
and eat your bread and butter with some liverwurst on top,
you'll need no shrink psychologist, because I tell you mate,
that most of them have dust for brains, just covered by a mop
of hair-like sprouts which really are just trying to abscond
the mess beneath that's thinking hard to point out people's weakness,
their use of special terms and words of which they are so fond,
does paint a picture of disease, an image of such bleakness,
that you can then be classified into a coded DOT,
and have a diagnosis made, unique to your own self,
so treatment must begin at once, lest you might lose the plot.
In minutes they create a file, for you, to grace a shelf
of 'active patients' in the place, we WILL see you tomorrow.
And when you leave you've given them your dough and independence,
some parting words ring in your ears about your pain and sorrow,
the pamphlet speaks in earnest tones, highlights the word 'transcendence'.
Aunt Hulda says that in this life no person should be lazy,
that you and I, and he and she are different individuals,
and that in gen'ral all white coats are stressed and truly crazy,
so not to fall for fancy words and convoluted rituals.
You keep your sanity that way and hold on to your money,
go muck the barn out, feed the chooks and stay out of the city.
It's best if all those guys read books, though they won't find it funny.
The world of greed is here to stay and isn't that a pity.
Note: Chooks is Aussie English for chickens
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: greed, funny, crazy, money, city, sorrow, hair, people, pain, world, lost
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