Mrs. Mallory went to a Psychiatrist
On the advice of Mrs. Silvera
Who had been twice divorced
And considered herself to be maladjusted.
Mrs. Mallory, who had never been divorced at all,
Considered that she also was maladjusted
Not for any specific reason really
Nothing you could put your finger on
But a definite feeling of dissatisfaction
With life in general and Mr. Mallory in particular,
And Deidre too who was no comfort and solace to her mother
Though at her age she should have been
But she was an unpredictable character
Who devoted too much time to Rock-n-Roll
And none at all to domestic science
And helping in the house and keeping a wary eye open
For Mr. Right to come along and sweep her away
To a series of social triumphs
In Washington possibly, or at least Baltimore,
Which Mrs. Mallory could read about in the gossip columns
And then send the cuttings to Irma in Minneapolis
Who would have to read them whether she liked it or not.

Mrs. Mallory lay on the Psychiatrist’s sofa
With her arms relaxed at her sides
And her feet sticking up, one to the right and one to the left
Like a mermaid’s tail.
The Psychiatrist sat behind her out of range
And waited politely for her to begin to talk
Which she was only to eager to do
After the first shyness had worn off
And he had asked her a few routine questions.
But she talked and talked and talked and talked.
So much, so much came tumbling out of her,
More than she would ever have believed possible,
But then of course, unlike Mrs. Silvera, he didn’t interrupt
And say things like, “That reminds me of when I went to Atlantic City
With my first husband” or “I feel exactly the same dear naturally
But I have to control my feelings on account of being so strictly raised.”
The Psychiatrist didn’t seem to be reminded of anything at all.
He sat there so quietly that once Mrs. Mallory looked round
To see if he had dropped off, but he hadn’t;
There he was scribbling away on a pad and occasionally nodding his head.
She had told him all about Deidre
And Mr. Mallory coming home from the Rotarian lunch
And taking his pants off on the landing
And shouting “Everything I have is yours, you’re part of me!”
So loudly that Beulah had come out of the kitchen 
And seen him with all his lower parts showing
And his hat still on.
She also told the Psychiatrist about the man in the subway
Who had pressed himself against her from behind
And said something that sounded like “Ug Ug”
Which is the one thing she had never told Mrs. Silvera
Perhaps on account of her having been so strictly raised.
She told him as well about the extraordinary dream she had had
On the night following the Beedmeyers’ Anniversary party
But when she was in the middle of it,
Before she had even got to the bit about the horse,
He rose and smiled and said he hoped to see her next Friday
At the same time.
So she got up from the couch
Feeling a little dizzy and aware that her left foot had gone to sleep
But when she stamped it it was all right.
She felt much better when she got home
And much less maladjusted
And when Mr. Mallory came home from the office
She had put on her new hostess gown
Which she had worn only twice
Once at the Beedmeyers and the other time at the Palisades Country Club
On Christmas Eve.
Also she had rubbed some Shalimar behind her ears
And greeted him with an all-embracing, welcoming smile
But it was none of it any use really
When dinner was over the looked at Television as they always did
Until it was time to go to bed,
Mr. Mallory spent longer in the bathroom than usual
And the Shalimar began to wear off.
But when he did come back in his pajamas 
It didn’t seem to much matter anyway
Because he merely belched and said “Excuse me” automatically,
Blew her a perfunctory kiss and got into his own bed,
Later on, after he had read McCall’s for a little,
He switched off the light.

Mrs. Mallory lay in the darkness
With her arms relaxed at her sides
And her feet up, one to the right and one to the left
Like a mermaid’s tail
And a tear rolled down her face all the way to her chin.