Group therapy with Bernice

Preparatory therapy we didn’t need. Yet.
But mother had traded another painting

for group youth babble. And so they left us all:
Tui, Brian, Greg, Scott, Janine, Aloo, Chris, Chris.

Me. With the freaking shrink. Once a week.
Until we acquiesced and performed exercises.

Like silently glaring at each other in a circle.
Or passing around the handmade hand mirror,

each verbalizing the deeply reflected truth of ourselves.
The boys all barked when Bernice handed me the mirror.

Assholes.