The Unexpected Steps

[tectak]

I begged them not to buy a dishwashing machine –
we obsessive compulsives need stuff we can clean.
But computer said yes and so the nursing team
are gathered around to watch the light turn green.
“It does plates and bowls and forks and knives,
it’ll revolutionise our lives!
We won’t have to lift a finger,
we can sit down and watch Jerry Springer.
We can watch chat shows, game shows, quizzes,
we can do anything except the dishes.”

In the dining room with the brand new floor
that’s slightly higher than it was before,
above the door a sign directs
Beware of the Unexpected Steps!
I did a foxtrot and I did a fan-dance,
I did the polka and I did the can-can.
I did me a jive, a jig and a twist,
now I’ve got to see The Psychiatrist.

She sat down next to me on the couch,
pulled out a needle and I said “Ouch!”
She said “Don’t be shy or play hard to get,
tell me about the unexpected steps!
What do they mean, these different dances,
the big moves back and the small advances?
Do you hear voices? Do you see visions?
My dear, do you have any strong suspicions?”
She hitched up her skirt, cupped her jaw
and ticked off the box marked Build a Rapport.

In the best interest of my mental hygiene
I told her about the dishwashing machine,
the computer and TV that in conjunction
were disabling every human function.
“Ah, so you have a functional psychosis!”
She laughed like a drain and then I noticed
how handsome she looked in a certain light.
“Tell me about the dream you had last night!”

I dreamt I saw Jesus when his time was brief,
nailed to the cross in lieu of a thief,
imploring The Lord “Take this cup from my lips.”
But his pleas were ignored, seemed like Jesus had his chips
until a giant hand swooped down upon the scene,
stole the cup and threw it in the dishwashing machine.
I woke from the dream where I’d been immersed
with pins and needles and a raging thirst.

I glanced at her slyly, her eyes big and wide,
she said “That’s a bad dream, you’re very paranoid!
You’ve a Messiah Complex, yes, you’re grandiose,
I think a nervous breakdown could be rather close.
You’ve a morbid fear of technology
and are needing treatment that’s compulsory!”
I begged for mercy and she smiled “Well, I guess,
if you teach me how to dance the unexpected steps!”

So we polkaed and waltzed, we jived and twisted,
we broke off in the jig because I insisted –
she ain’t a bad mover, I’ll admit, for a shrink,
but my legs were numb and I needed a drink.
She said “I’ll go get some Chlorpromazine”
and pulled a cup from her dishwashing machine.

I don’t figure I’ll visit there for a while,
unless washing by hand comes back into style.
The shrink’s convinced that I’m in denial
like Pontius Pilate at that old time trial.
“Come see me some time and finish your cup”
She’s learnt new steps; she says the jig is up
and urges me to abandon retro,
but I shall never dance to Techno.

Just great, ray....strains of Dylan's Motor-psycho Nightmare...I don't figure I'll be back there for a spell(unquote)....hell, I could sing it to the tune!
Best,
tectak