My therapist says
I may shoplift no longer.
What are you,
he asks,
sixteen?
Wait, I reply,
is it all right to steal at sixteen?
You pay eighty dollars a session
he responds,
is that how you want to spend our time?

I wonder,
I answer,
how much of our conversation
is simply volleys of questions hurled
from one to the other,
pitchers and catchers
striving for supremacy.

Metaphysicality,
at eighty dollars…
that’s pretty pricey, you know?
saith Doctor Jones.

A reverse haiku!
I reply. 
Now we’re getting somewhere.
You’re stealing our time
he says
patience diminished,
and I think we’ve established often
that this is not what you should be doing.

But it’s fun! I say.
It’s not helpful, says he.
I answer, it makes me happy.
He grunts, closes his notepad
and says, time’s up.
Looks like you’ve robbed us
of our session.

I grin.
And you said
I had to quit shoplifting…