Specialists and Archetypes

I’ve never understood how people decide
what it is they want to specialize in.

Dear mid-fifties male gynecologist:
What is it about the vagina that fascinates you so?

Dear young podiatrist:
How about those feet?

This chum bucket is chock full
of divorce lawyers, tongue doctors,
addiction specialists, practitioners
of obscure academic disciplines.

Why are you a professor of
Tantric meditation,
fifteenth century African social structures,
and the female sex drive?

I know why people mow lawns, collect trash,
scrub toilets, even teach middle school.
I’ve been there.
We can only make so many choices in life.

But when our fortunate choice is doctor or lawyer
the world turns suddenly diverse, I guess,
and you can grab at infinite novelty.

I knew a guy once who specialized
not on just the ear itself
(he wasn’t an otologist)
but just the hammer, anvil, and stirrup
(malleus, incus, and stapes).

Why? I asked him once.

He gave me some bullshit
about his subconscious archetype:
The Internal Blacksmith.

Looking back,
there might be something to that.

If you specialize in the testicles,
what is your archetype?

How about me?
Is my archetype my life:
The Unemployed Poet?
The Coffee Drinker?
The Chipped Thinker Statue?

That’s the problem.
We have too many archetypes these days.
If you’re lucky,
you might get to choose a carnival prize.

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