Freud thought of repetition as a
source of the uncanny -
something repressed that, when revealed, violates some
affective order.
A mass of young men enter in, same line
“wrong place, wrong time”
sentenced men not over twenty-one,
processed, stamped for prison, not fun.
A song-like spell, wrong place, wrong time dwells
on crimes’ belt tumbling into prison’s cells ad infinitum stamped, and leaving as they came
state blues saggy all the same
conveyer belt brings men tumbled into crime
metronome’s bell beats 4 x 4 time
state blues like pjs loose on frames so young
men doing time, not over twenty-one
but no fuss or crying they make
so scared they could shake
hoping for someone to care
mother type who may have a son
hoping someone like me will care
I steeled my heart dialed down to tough
no Mother Mary full of grace or fluff,
I’m made of harder skeptical stuff
assign sons where crimes reside,
you men en mass worry how to abide
like a mother protect you if I could
fast grow you up I would
some of you know to hold your faces fast
what will help save your ass
how to last, wear the mask.*
often for us all I ache,
not only for your sake
overtaken by a melancholy mood
feelings of empathy intrude.
Adria Libolt
*Reference, Paul Laurence Dunbar
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Adria Libolt
would be pleased to hear them
