Grandpa, The Shrink

My grandpa, an old-fashioned shrink told all his patients how to think. He asked them holes into their brains and catered wisely to their pains. A thousand words he thus instilled into psychotic, iron-willed and other specimens in need, a measure of cognition's seed. And then, at session number six he waved his magic wand to fix the problems they could not surmount, he flicked his fingers, not to count but to command the strict attention of those who'd feed his growing pension. And, bit by bit he would extract each previously unknown fact. By twisting what he had implanted he'd pull, then happily recanted terms of confusion from within. And then he stood there, with a grin pronounced them balanced in the skull. My grandpa's life was never dull.