I put Sigmund Freud in a toothbrush mug
arms high, waving his knowledge and his confidence,
after all, only fools or niche psychoanalysts
dare to wear bow-ties.
In his right hand, probably a cigar
maybe a burnt pencil,
either way, ready to tap the ashes
of the burning relationship I bring him.
In that same bathroom accessory,
late at night,
husband sleeping,
wife returns,
anxious creeping
she gargles clean her consensual infidelity.
Now, here’s a strange one-
a month ago
she knew a ton of feathers weighed
as much as a ton of lead,
but that the burden of sharing
matched the burden of secrecy
was not within her head.
Her man-
now here’s a strange one
strong enough to be weak
a week enough to make him wonder
if his boast that monogamy was unnatural,
unlike beech or oak,
was really just a middle-class theory.
Anyway, she comes there
then she comes back,
then she comes again,
and he hasn’t a clue
if he is any happier now
than he ever was.
And that will be £100,
Sigmund says,
from one mug to another.
This Man's a Freud
-
Strictly Confidential
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Mon Dec 29, 2003 7:59 pm
This Man's a Freud
Last edited by Strictly Confidential on Mon Jan 05, 2004 10:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Byron
- Posts: 3171
- Joined: Tue Nov 26, 2002 3:01 pm
- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
SC, you have hit upon the gilt of guilt. I enjoy re-reading this piece of yours. You do have a way with words and it is fun for you, yes?
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
-
Strictly Confidential
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Mon Dec 29, 2003 7:59 pm
-
Strictly Confidential
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Mon Dec 29, 2003 7:59 pm