My grandpa, an old-fashioned shrink <br />told all his patients how to think. <br />He asked them holes into their brains <br />and catered wisely to their pains. <br />A thousand words he thus instilled <br />into psychotic, iron-willed <br />and other specimens in need, <br />a measure of cognition's seed. <br /> <br />And then, at session number six <br />he waved his magic wand to fix <br />the problems they could not surmount, <br />he flicked his fingers, not to count <br />but to command the strict attention <br />of those who'd feed his growing pension. <br /> <br />And, bit by bit he would extract <br />each previously unknown fact. <br />By twisting what he had implanted <br />he'd pull, then happily recanted <br />terms of confusion from within. <br />And then he stood there, with a grin <br />pronounced them balanced in the skull. <br />My grandpa's life was never dull.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grandpa-the-shrink/
