What Would Sigmund Freud Say?

Passing through a glass-beaded curtain,

I enter an old-school porn shop and see

one of my exes, unaged, selecting plaster

figurines in the tradition of Priapus,

with a shirtless, tanned blond boy behind,

learning forward, hands on knees.

I, unnoticed, circle around racks

of vintage vinyl punk records

but then run into them at the earring

display and exchange rather awkward

greetings, interrupted by a friendly-seeming

stranger, who strikes up a conversation,

only to attempt a scam involving a

supposedly starving friend twenty pounds

from death, seeking monetary contributions.

Recognizing the dream state,

I attempt to practice my assertiveness

training, but ineffectually, so that

the ex comes to my rescue by

depositing marbles in the pocket

of the alleged victim.


Copyright 2014

T. Allen Culpepper

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