"Dr. Freud Plays Patience"
I am a fist all balled for a fight.
Against the dark, I hang a string
of cans and kitchen knives ;
a curtain of fright to stupify
the tendrils of intruding night,
I am the dream you cannot interpret
in this tarnished London light;
a wombed creature whose hollows
gestate your paradigm of desire.
I am sorry about the lessons
in psycho-historical hysteria,
I didn’t learn. The snake headed staff
you give me isn’t enough to strike
the roar of ghost lions surging
beneath quiet cigar exhalations.
You are as dark as Vienna chocolate,
as spent as the over-ripe fruits seeping ,
drying on the polish of a silver platter.
I want to explain, the moon to you,
stranger in your man-desert. I am as wet
as my bursting turgid breasts that spout
to your pursed lips. You understand
rainy seasons but vaguely.
Perhaps I’ll forgive your phallo-centric
rationalizations, and the hand you misdealt,
for after all we both know how to cheat
when playing with ourselves.
© 2008 sue kay
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