Bock Rottom

To use humor to talk about things I don’t
like, I often switch the first letters of
words as a ploy, a Medense Fechanism.


Everybody loves jokes, especially therapists.
I’m Deverely Suppressed today, thanks for
asking. I thought about swallowing a Punch


of Bills. I haven’t left my Dead in Bays. I’m
soooo funny, I explain to my therapist, though
he’s not smiling, giggling, not remotely tickled.


My therapist enjoys my humor though, even
if he keeps bringing it up, what I’m doing,
wants me to know he’s figured me out,


tries not to laugh but if I keep with it, often he
chuckles, he can split and heel, he falls directly
out the seat of my mind, he says, you spend


too much of our sessions trying to lighten the
mood, taking care of me, easing the room’s
sorrows, the brick room with three chairs,


one couch, a lacy red and green pillow
that I hug, so many boxes of tissues and
he keeps tightening the tension, says no


he would never pressure me he’s just trying
to get me to be real but I’m fist closing the
pillow the couch he keeps pressing I keep


yelling you don’t get it you Fother Mucking
slender-nosed man you are Bresting my
Puttons and this room is such a thick, pulsing


wet ocean of winded-tight air no matter if
I jab or joke by the time I leave we’re rubbing
sadness from our eyes, all the pens snap

Sam Herschel Wein (he/they) is a Chicago-based poet who specializes in perpetual frolicking. Their second chapbook, GESUNDHEIT!, a collaboration with Chen Chen, was part of the 2019-2020 Glass Chapbook series. He cofounded and edits Underblong. Recent work appears in Moon City Review, Sundog Lit, and Perhappened Mag, among others.