I've been a practicing psychoanalyst since l984 and have been publishing case studies that read like short stories for years in places like The Psychoanalytic Review and The Partisan Review. For the past few years I've been meaning to publish a jargon-free book for the general public: The Man In The BMW and Other Psychoanalytic Stories but each time I'm ready to tie them all together I get waylaid by theater. Or a new book of poems. Finally my wife, Linda, and I are going to finish the book of ten "stories." If you're interested you can find the Man In The BMW on Google.
Poems are written for the folks at home
Who scoffed at what we said in prose.
Poems are written for the folks who doze
In nursing homes, or villages of stone.
Poems are written for idealized others,
For the best traits in our fathers, mothers.
Poems are transcripts of our chromosomes
That once formed moving flesh and bone.
Poems are written sound by line by page
In momentary grief or fear or rage,
Knowing there is no one and no home.
Poems are written for their sake alone.
first published in FALLOUT
©2017 Frederick Feirstein
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