» 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.