#3 Prozac And Crayons

I grip the peach one in my fist
and colour fastidiously
outside the lines
making scrawls like
balls of lint
or the shape inside
an angry person's thought bubble.

This is my therapy.
Shifting through an old Fry's chocolate tin
heaped with wax crayons,
filling in the boxes on my tax return -
Gross Income This Year:
a thick block of British Racing Green.
Are you resident in the EU?
Parallel red and orange stripes,
like the best cat I can imagine.