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?
Taryn Thomson 