close up shot of a crate on a bicycle

“Sigmund, when did you first know

you wanted to kill your father 

and take your mother as your lover?

Try hard to remember.”

I never did.  That story is based upon

a case of mistaken identity.

Oedipus never knew his father.

A prophet told a lie that became

true.  Laius and Jocasta believed

the prophecy and committed the most

hideous act of all knowingly.

“I see you don’t believe.”

That I want to kill my father?  Sleep

with my mother?  No, indeed.

“We don’t know what we want,

do we?”  

I’ve never heard you say you wanted

to kill father, sleep with mother.

It’s always someone else’s truth

you know better than they do.

“Excuse me,” he says, bends over 

the table, sits up, squeezes his nose,

runs a finger over his teeth.

“You need to understand the power

of the unconscious.”

Mine or yours?  Or don’t you have one?

“I’ve had enough.  I’m going to leave.”

Don’t say another word, you’ve said enough.

Hootism:  forgetting is so important; it’s right beside remembering.