by Stephen Gold

“Canadian doctors prescribe national park tickets for health benefits”
—The Times

At 3 o’clock
I saw the Doc,
And told him, “I’m depressed.
I hate my life,
My job, my wife.
No wonder I’m so stressed.”

“I see,” said he.
“It seems to me
That pills won’t do the trick,
But tender care
From God’s fresh air
Will stop you feeling sick.

You can’t just mope.
I won’t soft-soap:
Get up from off your ass.
Go hike and bike—
What’s not to like?
Here, take this mountain pass.”

I bade goodbye.
With weary sigh,
I stepped across the street.
Inside I knew
What I must do,
And where to point my feet.

The great outdoors
Is just for bores.
A better cure by far,
As wise men note,
Runs down the throat.
Hi, from The Hikers’ Bar.