A Conversation with Freud

A Conversation with Freud

At dinner, I said to Freud
it was good of him to come over
to leave his patients on the couch
for a good old heart to heart
over stuffing and roast lamb.
Freud replied he had to come
he knew subconsciously so.
I asked, man to man of course, what can I do?
My wife's out again
fifth time this week
never know where
some bloke picks her up.
Tell me Freud, why does she do it?
Freud wiped his mouth on the neatly folded napkin.
My son, he said, we have to find the root, the cause of this hysteria.
It can only lie in early trauma, some repressed memories from the oedipal stage
somewhere, somehow, in her dysfunctional relationship with her father.
But Freud, I argued, she loved her father.
Aha, said Freud. That is the neurosis -
acting out unrequited oedipal love
using men as love objects for her transference.
He added: her id and super-ego are in terrible conflict.
My admiration and awe of his analysis increasing,
I poured him the sherry.
What can we do Freud? I asked?
He scratched his scalp with a brief reflection.
She needs to bring to consciousness
this splitting of psyche, her wounded id.
Regressing to the point of fixation
would mend this transference neurosis.
Fixation? I questioned the amazing analyst.
She is stuck at a point of infantile development, came the reply.
She needs to bring it to her consciousness
then she will no longer need
to act out repressed memories on other men.

At that point my wife returned
finding my staring into my empty glass
as if it was giving me a thrill.
Dear, she said, there's nothing in it.
Everything's in it, I replied.
If only I could've seen
the approaching neurosis.