Should I be good? My therapist insists I could.
Simply read, NOT “read into,” Enlightenment Now.
(Not even read; therapist shall gladly gift his audiobook to drill
Pinker’s sanguine message into amygdala while I drive.)
“Your problem is you are a liberal paradox; a progressive
Against scientific progress; a humanist who shuns humanism.”
My therapist doesn’t buy my analysis. A Reagan Republican, he still
Has a thing for Peggy Noonan. Convinced GAD is in my head,
Not my brain, my malady stems from chronic pessimism, which I
Suppose an occupational hazard. (For thirty years I’ve failed to glean
What critical thinking means to STEM students at Indiana Tech.)
My mind could major in classic tricks of cognitive distortion:
Catastrophizing, black-and-white thinking, saying yes, but, under
Breathe, muttering “what if?” I underestimate ability to cope,
Overestimate risk… all of which gets.my therapist pissed:
“Stop cogitating! Just Read the Damned Pinker!”
OKAY! OKAY ALREADY! I’M LISTENING:
……….Hunger is down, global war is down,
……….Civil war is down, disease
……….Is down, democracy is up,
……….Safety is up, accidents are down,
……….Social safety nets are up,
……….Murder is down;
………………………….. yes,
……….Climate remains a tough nut,
……….But, if all else fails,
……….Pinker recommends jets
……….Spray ocean water
……….Into the stratosphere
……….To filter out the carbon.
Pandemic? January 6? George Floyd?
How about remembering the Rothschilds of Frankfurt?
No refrigeration, flushable toilets, cells. And just because Rowling
Is a billionaire doesn’t mean my rant won’t get published.
That’s not how literary markets work…
(In fact, Potter profits enable Bloomsbury
To reprint Virginia Woolf and Maynard Keynes.)
Why can’t I force my CRT brain to put up or shut up?
Why can’t I just buckle up this safer
Generation’s version of my mid-level model
Japanese designed sedan (but built in Right to Work Indiana),
Click cruise control, pop another disk of Enlightenment
Into my cd player (Yes, my car still has one!)
Hit the open road, and breathe? But tell me,
Stephen Pinker, if you know, why isn’t clutching the jewel case
For Enlightenment Now against my chest shielding me
From feeling I am becoming
A wave of frozen sweat in this late October wind?