This is a poem I wrote in honor of my most diabolically masterful massage therapist, Dave. It is only half in jest. He said I could post it. However, DJ has not said I could post the business card. Actually, I haven’t asked, yet.
Dave’s Diabolical Den
Welcome, all souls, to the Dungeon!
Please abandon your hope at the door!
And surrender yourself in the interest of Health
Maybe once, maybe twice, maybe more.
When you come, you know David will greet you
With a soft-spoken, “Go right on in.”
What you see is a freshly made table
What you don’t see is Dave’s wicked grin.
It’s deceptive, his comforting manner
He’s a calming and spiritual guy.
You’ve now willingly entered the mystical center
Of the spider web, Bold little Fly.
You admire the room’s decoration
And although you might not comprehend,
In no time at all, you will hear the strange call
Of Dave’s Diabolical Den.
For the devil is in all the details
From the music to soft leather mocs
This warmly lit room’s an enveloping womb;
And when you are settled, he knocks.
The warmth of the heat pad relaxes
You hear the most soothing of sounds
He happily hums as he presses his thumbs through your body
Right down to the ground.
You marvel where he finds your muscles –
You don’t really give it much thought.
Then you are reminded – and instantly blinded –
When his elbow discovers that spot.
He twists and he tweaks and he presses
He rubs and he shakes, and he pokes.
He gives one last push to the bones in your tush
While cheerfully telling you jokes.
As soon as it starts, then it’s over.
Once again, you’ve been saved by the bell.
You’re stiff and you’re sore, but you’ll come back for more
To the therapy version of Hell.
“Oh, surely you jest!” you are thinking.
Brave Reader, allow me to speak.
I’d never regale you with falsehoods, or fail you
By lodging my tongue in my cheek.
Dear Client, don’t let me dissuade you
From seeking the care that you need
I’m not here to scare you, or double-dog dare you
Just hear what I say, and pay heed.
I’ve rested my bones on this table
I’ve hollered and groaned with the best
I’ve had pain with no bruises! – The technique he uses
Would put the Marquis to the test.
I admit that it’s quite masochistic
To submit to the pain like I do.
I find it quite freeing to torment my being –
The question is – what about you?
I leave you with one final message:
Forget everything you’ve been taught.
For once you have braved through the torture of Dave
“Relaxation massage” is just rot!
When we turn and gaze behind, we’re never sure what we might find
Opportunities we’ve missed, regrets too numerous to list.
So turn around and look ahead — sometimes, the past is better dead.
The wise man learns from his mistakes to help decide the path he takes.
We live, we love, we laugh, we cry — we wave as the parade goes by
and pretty soon, we realize our life has passed before our eyes.
The sun will rise, the sun will set — it hasn’t reached its ending yet
and once our earthly time is gone, eternity goes on and on.
It wasn’t all that long ago I set my expectations low,
and promises from empty heads my doleful disappointment fed.
They filled my ears with empty praise and fixed me with their hollow gaze,
and over time, with wounded pride, my youthful, trusting nature died.
For all those years I’d tried to find a way to leave the crowd behind,
results were never what I’d sought — “trust nobody,” is what it taught.
I’ll never be the President — success will be by accident.
I wonder, every now and then, the differences that could have been.
But, honestly, though I may fail to win a prize or blaze a trail,
Whatever else that I have done, I want to know that I had fun.