Regrets of a woke therapist

I was a woke shrink, I sadly write this verse. My patients came in bad shape, ended up worse. Today there was Cohen, who thought he was French. I told him either way, his privilege gave a stench. I told him skin color made him an oppressor. He got so upset; he jumped on my dresser. There was Jane who when I said she was a man. transitioned, then wanted to undo that plan. I had told she can be any gender intersection. But she stays in a state of permanent dejection. Annie once hurt her head falling off a wall. Her frantic husband first gave me the call. I said her deranged thoughts were dealing with life's pain. No such thing as crazy, a new way of being sane. Hiroshi believed a film spread across the land, His scandal on the screen, completely out of hand. I told him he couldn't change, just accept the shame. He committed Hara Kiri, it's me his parents blame. Then came Gino Posca, crying like a child. He said the Mob sprays him with drugs, the story was so wild. I really couldn't take this tale; I was having a bad day. I said I believed him I'd follow up straight away. Gino was so grateful; he told all his amicos I was wrong to strengthen his delusions, I suppose. I drove home, increasing fear, two cars behind me all the way. Dead bird under my mailbox, an odd whiff of skunk spray Maybe my being woke was being asleep at the wheel. I can't tell truth from fiction, can't go by what I feel. Maybe all I was taught, contradicts common sense. And who just threw that dead fish over my garden fence?