When Does a Therapist Call the Police
Catharsis 101
I have had this dream since early childhood,
at least since before puberty and the onslaught of maturity or manhood.
I was in a hayloft of a dilapidated, run-down barn
at the back edge of what was once a working farm
now abandoned due to its proximity to Eva Braun's
summer retreat where the Fuhrer (as rumor had it,
rumor being the only news you could believe)
was now in a top secret meeting to map out
the strategy of what would be the new world order
after final victory. I was not naked but
nearly so having torn and shredded my clothes
crawling across the stubble of the meadow
in the predawn darkness of a stormy, thunderous
night. Even my underwear was wet but my gun,
a new rifle with a telescopic sight, hidden in
the barn by an anonymous member of the Resistance
Underground was dry and well-oiled having never been fired.
As I focused the cross hairs on his mustachioed head
I knew I couldn't allow the barrel to protrude
through the window, for all the sentries on guard duty
were watching. While the whole world urged me on
the thought occurred to me that this would be
the most important shot fired in the history of humanity,
but the actual pulling of the trigger, I was hesitant...
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