I can’t find my therapist
streets of Yaletown look the same
I blame gentrification
wax bars and custom tailors
capitalist sea of things
I can’t afford, don’t understand,
don’t want, don’t need
Kafkaesque this
ten years of confusion
Kafka would also lose
his way in Yaletown
I say to my therapist,
“I got lost again,” and he says
“You are here, on time”
he notices what I do well
while my focus is elsewhere
why can’t I find
a way to his office that
doesn’t find me, ten minutes
prior to my appointment,
gazing at the blo bar, the juice bar,
the distillery, wondering,
where the fuck am I?