“Molecular Therapy” by Bobby Steve Baker

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Numbered Bones

My therapist settles
metapatiently and swivels
back and forth,
waiting for change.
If I talk she doesn’t have to think.

Metamorphosis starts at
her stilettos.
One is planted on the rug,
the other rests high on her knee.
Lime green panties
are visible in her compound eyes,
reflected from my own.

She does not recognize
she is pupating in her black silk
dress and pearl necklace.
Soon all to be
sloughed.

When the pause has been
unprofessionally long,
like my gaze,
she chirps about
that New Yorker cartoon.
I can understand her garbled
clicks and clacks by channeling
Gregor’s sister.

I know the one.
This upscale thirty-something therapist
says to the patient, “Why don’t you
try going out and buying lots of stuff.”

Silly rabbit.
I do that all the time.
Like late last night,
I rode these large, smooth multi-function blenders
in high-tech stores
all over town.

I straddle-grip them tight
between my legs
and fly over the whole
appliance section, recliner-rockers,
and auto parts. Pitch and roll and blade speed
are step-wise varied
to probe vibrational epi-dymnamics.

The goal is to engage
the Larmor precessional frequency
of my atomic essence.
Spin like a top, tilt
side to side
at will and always return upright.

Gain control of hydrogen polarity,
subatomic harmony,
and moods will be a snap.

Blender after blender failed.
“Have you ever had that kind of disappointment
at other times,” the lime green
scaly milk snake hissed,
hoping to snare me in a disconcerting insight.

–Bobby Steve Baker,
Numbered Bones
Accents Publishing

Bobby Steve BakerBobby Steve Baker was born in Ontario, Canada in 1951, but has lived and practiced cosmetic surgery in Lexington, Kentucky for many years. He holds an MFA degree in Poetry from National University and has published in various literary journals, including Ann Arbor Review, Boston Literary Magazine, and Grey Sparrow Journal. In 2009, his poetry in tinfoildresses was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Bobby grew up in a home where poetry was ever-present but began to write seriously only in the past few years.

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