Repression – Journal Poem

Poem to story?  Perhaps.  I spend hours over this thought.  I put  the writing of the story, here, on some back burner.

I move through the day.  Stopped up toilet and visit from the plumber.  He ended up to be some warrior one the Bush dynasty sent to war.  I liked him.  He knew something I didn’t know about but wished I did.  We paid for an hour of his time and, once the toilet was unstopped, I directed him to our stuck disposal.  He fixed that, too.

We are at odds.  You suddenly want to discuss, lately, Freud.  FREUD?  So I say to you:

Me:  I don’t care to discuss this any further with you.  If you don’t want to discuss God with me, I don’t care to discuss Freud with you.  Get it?

You:  That’s true.  They’re both somewhat gods, aren’t they?

Me:  Not to me.

And we move into silence.  That is best, I think.  I certainly don’t care to debate Freud with you…at this point.


Once you know
you know.
I mean
how much sense does it take
to know when pictures fade
and reality sets in?


image via pixabay

2 thoughts on “Repression – Journal Poem

  1. Why is it that some things are so one sided for some people? They want you to hear what they have to say on a certain subject, yet, do not want to hear what you have to say…..they really think that They are right, so why bother listening to what you have to say. Who gives anyone the right to their opinion and their opinion alone! ????


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