We take turns going out for smokes
inhaling our humanitybetween the crazy
spilling out from the rafters.
Our job is to offer
salves to soothe the breaking mind
while we build a language to release
the knotted ropes strangling thoughts.
None of us profess
to be sane in a world that insists
it’s in love with anything mad,
that would be considered an oxymoron in this profession,
though there are certainly
many who should have given up their proverbial white coats
for the allegory of the straight jacket
instead of taking out their own madness on the world –
this would be considered a wolf in sheep’s clothing in this profession.
Our humanness gets lost in the job,
and every time we find ourselves projected into superhero,
our capes unfurling in the hot air blowing around us.
So many want us to save them
from the villains time can’t forget
or be a witness to their own antagonist
searching for a certificate that makes them unaccountable,
completely unaware in the end,
no matter how they insist,
this is a power only they can take on. So,
between the cracks in time when things look closer to fine,
we take turns going out for smokes,
exhaling our secret identity
we do not intend to save the world,
but only help the world save itself.