Sigmund Freud visits the local tribal casino,
Sits down,
And in his heavy Austrian accent, says,
"Hit me."
Vladimir Lenin, colorless and severe, agitates to have the pot collectivized,
And is thrown out by bouncers.
He makes his way through the strange city,
Boards a train, then transfers to a steamship,
Finally going into exile in Paris.
Consider:
Why does the sight of the ace of spades make certain of the dancers go upstairs together,
Undress,
And fall into whispered discussion of each other's dreams?
Why does the queen of hearts induce silly laughter
And drunken tears?
Why does the nine of diamonds
Cause sudden grim departure,
Isolation,
Suicide?
A former football star and an expensive prostitute are tableside,having a tractor-pull.
As long as she holds him between her fingers like that,
He will burn.
He is confident enough to wear a pink shirt;
Is he a communist?
He certainly dreams of annexing her,
Controlling her media,
Installing a puppet government.
Through all of this,
Sigmund Freud has been losing his shirt.
He is quietly terrified.
The chips have become imagoes,
The dealer a devouring vagina.
He stands up,
Mops his brow,
Trembles.
Oh, Sigmund,
Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar;
But sometimes,
It is a baton passed from careless fingers
Into doom.
At a little cafe near the Seine,
Something unusual happens at that very moment--
Lenin sets down his cup,
Dabs his lips with a napkin,
Leans back,
And laughs like a schoolgirl.
The ace of spades is folded inside his bill,
And he cannot control himself,
Cannot, for the life of him,
Stop.
_______
for One Shoot Sunday
