Escape Poem by Richard G Berg

Escape

Week by week
They visited him, devotees
Of rituals. Up the monastic stairs, reaching
An oblong attic, darkened.

His burgundy couch, where they would lie
Freeing unembarrassed words. Staring
At an Art-Nouveau desk-lamp, tucked
Out of sight.

He would trespass the shaved-off hour
With a quick remark, or sharp question
Fused from experienced guesses
Pauses sighed. Horses from the past
Galloped through the dark, riding off with their words.

They plied him
With dreams, nightmares, digressions, obsessions
Complaints and restraints
He applied himself
With a fountain pen
Bite marks warring
Around its top.

Month by month
They left him, converts
To the unanalysed future
Strengthened by time
Spent lying down, dreaming up
What he would be like
In love.

They spoke of him, to neighbours
And other therapists
His faint voice, his grey tweed blazer, his modest
Increase in fees
His clean hands.

His daughter spoke of him
Rarely

His wife burned his bicycle.

Richard G Berg
February 2022