Victims Of Life Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

After receiving
my 38th
consecutive rejection
the confidence I felt
at the start
of my writing career
waned
and I dipped into
a severe depression
“I’m finished, ” was all
I could muster
as I sat in Meng’s Restaurant
in Coney Island.
Bill First must have
heard me
because he said,
“Bernstein
never give up
that’s the lesson
I learned after
eighteen years
in the nuthouse
and now look at me
I can even tie
my own shoelaces
in the morning
when before
I walked in slippers
from dawn to dusk.”
I inquired as to
the reason
for his transformation
and he mentioned
Southbeach Psychiatric Center
“Ain’t got cash
for a shrink
cause
my writing
is garbage
and I depleted
all my savings writing
instead of working.”
He smiled saying,
“Free,
see would be shrinks
practice
on indigent crazies.”
On August 6th
I attended
my first group therapy session
“My name is Dan Buckenberger, ”
said a young man
in his twenties
wearing a long white lab coat,
“and I’m in charge
of this repair facility.
Now let’s whiz around for introductions.”
“My name is Herman Higgs.
I’m 27
with 56 shock treatments
under my belt,
but I still got all my own teeth.”
“Harold Vunk, homeless,47.”
“I am Irving Crummey,
advisor to the Gambino Crime Family
and also his Imperial Majesty, Caesar Gallus.”
“Steve Bernstein, ” I said, “a spurned writer—
rejected,
discarded,
cast aside,
abandoned...
thrown into the pit of despair.”
“Admirable! ” said Dr. Buckenberger
a smile on his face.
“We’ll start with an illustrious
quotation from
Valerius Maximus,
although scholars have
ascribed the words
originally to
Sophocles
in any case
helpful
inspirational
AN INSTANT CURE
for what ails
the soul:
‘No one
ought to be
called happy
as long as
he is still
alive.’: