They gather with mournful faces
and bare their shattered souls,
rehash their lives and moan about
unattainable goals.

They've lost a wife to the postman
or husband to his shrink.
They've snorted all their profits
or drowned themselves in drink.

As they share their abject misery,
a splendid day fades away.
The sun sets with electric flares.
They kneel down to pray

for salvation from their dreary lives
and ruts that lead astray.
When they emerge into the night,
the sky is leaden gray.

From 'The Foundation for Brief Therapy'
Get out of it.
Get over it.
Get on with it.

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