Emanuel Lardass, professor of psychology,

has fathered many misconceptions,

including a wife, two daughters and

a son who might or might not be.

He sees he is a legend, a master of imitation,

of ambivilent ambiguity, of subliminal desire

and a wish to have more ambition, a career

far behind but not much left up front. His

house, his wife, his car, all mastectimized.

And his lectures divine, sought after from

afar, but close up there are pieces from different

puzzles in place of the pieces that are missing.

So, late at night when the house is sleeping, he guzzles.

His daughters, fair of face and of good posture,

the type who wear white gloves even when

they are not wearing them. All is proper on

the outside but good intentions are in a new

old-fashioned way a for of cerebral punishment.

They married well, men of good standing. Why care

if they weren't the loves of thier lives. In all

things good and honorable, what's a little compromise???

And the son, he married Amalgamated Planco.com,

merger consultants to the world, plus three week vacation,

dental and mental co-pay, plus thirty-eight cents a mile.

Emanuel Lardass, professor of psychology,

disciple of Sigmund Sigmund, not the elder Jung,

but the younger Jung, Alder, Rank, and Horney,

and has the scars to prove it, but when it came to

real life, it would have behoved him, at least in

the bedroom, to have been a bit more Dr. Ruthian.

There is a wife of Emanuel Lardass, professor of

psychology. No shadow of her own, so lived in his.

A constant imposition, on public display, the pasted

on smile, all teeth, and beyond that she knows

what to say: "So nice to see you. Do drop in for tea

so we can talk some more about what used to be me."

Emanuel Lardass, professor Emeritus, beloved by his

mirror. Given the final universty kiss-off before

they opened the door to the intellectual scrap heap.

Thank you for your loyal service, but there is

someone younger with a greater hunger for

that which you mistakenly took for granted.

Where is the key, the door, the opening, the

path that doesn't lead into but leads away?

and the door Dear Professor Lardass that you

see ajar in freeze-frame, is not ajar but closing.

Franz Douskey