My Mental Librarian

My Mental Librarian

Session #1

I just returned from a disastrous date.
We met at the library.
She wanted to talk about books.
I wanted to talk about her breasts.
My mind drooled all over itself.

Session # 2

I no longer have any options left.
I've got to read people better.
Minds are like closed books
or dirty windows.
They come in different sizes and shapes.
Take mine for example. When I look inside,
I see a seedy parking lot the size
of Rhode Island or an ancient library
in a buried city of pornographic images
covered by the ash of my lust.
The more I look the more it seems filled
with irrelevant mental cargo boxes
drowning in some kind of marshmallow fluff.
What a mess. Things are impossible
to retrieve.

Session #3

I made up an imaginary friend.
A sort of sexy mental librarian.
She's an idealistic graduate student.
God only knows what kind.
It's certainly not Library Science
or Education.
I meet with her when I'm bored,
at a loss for words. She's funny.
Whatever she says usually means
something else.
She's inclined to criticize,
be judgmental and nag.
The kind of qualities as unpalatable
as raw goat milk in Irish coffee.

She told me I needed to date more.
What she really meant was everything
was beginning to look to me
like a woman's thigh.
She told me she was thinking of putting
on her mental jogging shorts
and tracking some trends.
What she really meant was my mind
was my most undeveloped feature.
I should exercise it more.

She told me I was not long winded enough.
What she really meant was my attention span
was like a rubber band perennially snapping
back to the themes of sex,
excuses and money. When I said I think
about what I don't have a lot of,
she told me it was her job to do
the thinking for us both.
I guess I've got a wife
and didn't know it.
Which means I don't need
a therapist anymore

Scott Malby

Like Dylan Thomas, Scott Malby believes that an empty library is a terrible bar to great spirits.

Posted over on Snakeskin