Exile    poems by Matthew Freeman February 2021

The Average Reader Will Get It

Thanks to the abundance
of the government
I’m down here on easy street
in the Carbondale Writer’s Retreat
with my sister. I know that
Rome gave her special poet a villa.

But I do miss walking through Ladue
to see my last best therapist.
She was the one who got
so excited when I mentioned
my shadow personality
and all the crazy shit I’d done.
“Let’s talk more about that,” she said,
her eyes shinning bright.

Oh, I was nearly infatuated,
a shaman staring at the stop light,
I dreamt I was drinking volumes,
wearing rags, no dentures, confined again
to the poor house,

and this time in my mind it was my dad
who took me to the psych ward. So I’m
comforted, I ended up with everything I wanted.
I’m in a small town, unbothered, writing poems.
It’s just that God had to force my hand.

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