I found the card behind a receipt for oil

I found the card behind a receipt for oil.

The corner is fuzzy, the lamination peeling

like a sunburned shoulder.

I can still hear her voice, that calm,

expensive tone that feels like being patted

on the head with a brick.

"You prefer the struggle to the solution," she said.

I wanted to throw the water pitcher at the wall,

not because she was wrong, but because

I’m paying her to tell me I’m a disaster

in a way I can’t argue with.