» Poetry

Analysis

At the diner, I sit with Freud

open on the table before me.

It’s rude to say clueless, but

clueless, the waiter won’t let

me sit with my book and coffee

half-filled. He brims it. Chimes,

A velociraptor stubbed its foot.

Pauses. Now it’s dino-sore.

I’m bored of Freud, it’s true,

but not bored enough to flirt

with you, I think, but don’t say.

Ha. Can I have my check?

which he brings with his number,

You’ll want to keep that receipt.

Freud on the sooty bus, I can

say that I have made many

beginnings and thrown out

many suggestions. The receipt

stuck between two pages,

bookmarking desire and lack.