I tell my brain to behave.
“You abuse me”, replies.
Nope, I say
I read all labels
before eating canned foods,
regularly I talk with my priest,
money advisor, marriage counselor
and cognitive therapist.
“Who cares?” it says.
I need to be challenged and kissed
by sublime, wit and humor,
otherwise I’ll develop a tumor
on my right hemisphere
where anger, horror, panic, despair
collide;
believe me,
I have no place to hide.”
I say
”Hey!
Get the hell out of here
and write!”
“Know what?”
talking back to me
“I just might.”


©Elena Malec, California 1997-2004