[Poems]

Sketch; Sep 22nd, 2021

・Morning

Coffee once, coffee twice, I prefer not to trice 

・Evening

Beers, beers, beers, beers, four men cheers

Sigmund

A tall skinny man in a bathrobe is in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning. The city is waking up, as well as the traffic noise gradually increases. Low frequencies of the gasoline combustion engines pass through the condominium windows and reach the kitchen where the man is. The tall man wearing a light orange bathrobe looks like a toy made of wire. Extremely long arms and legs that had almost no fat or muscles.  And his arched back; the shoulders placed forward, the head even further forward, a miracle achievable by the chronic back pain, and probably an upcoming hernia operation. Nevertheless, in close-up, Egon’s glossy skin and abundant black hair reflected his correct age, fifty-seven. Egon is in the kitchen with the sole objective of preparing a lunch pack. Every step he follows seems to be previously rehearsed in detail. He lights the stove to warm the pan. He stretches his left hand towards the higher shelf to take the bread and finds the cheese and ham in the fridge door, and closes it with his left foot. The fridge door closes, but Egon paralyzes for a second. He closes his eyes, and touches his back. He bites his under lip and deeply regrets the acrobatic moves that hurt his back. 

Suddenly he hears his son flushing the toilet. The adolescent son is getting ready for school. Egon, as if he had remembered something he stretches his back. The pan is warmed at the exact right temperature, he places the bread with cheese, and exhales a subtle sigh. 

It has been  3 days since his son, Egon Junior has not talked to him. The kid who just turned 14, has declared that he is no longer answering to the name“Junior” which is how Egon had called him since his birth. Egon was shocked to witness his son’s sprouting self-will.  They had always been together. Egon and Junior. The big one and small one. The strong and weak. Father and son. Nevertheless, Junior had grown. The boy was already taller and stronger than his old wire-made father. The boy was already Egon. Not Junior. 

*

Three days ago, at dinner Junior asked his father not to call him Junior. Egon distraught, responded

“So, can I call you Sigmond?”

The phrase was packed with sarcasm. Egon’s right eyebrow was raised as if he were making fun of Junior. He didn’t know why he answered like that nor what he was going to say. 

“You know, like Sigmund Freud... In Freudian terms, you don’t want to be called Junior because you’re having an Oedipus complex. You are developing an unconscious infatuation towards your mother and fearing the fath... ”

Without waiting for Egon to finish, Junior blushed with anger, left to his room, and slammed the door. Egon knew he did the wrong thing. He touched his back head and exhaled a sigh.

*

It is fifteen before eight, the usual time Junior leaves home. Egon could hear Junior approaching the kitchen. His back is slowly becoming arched again. Anxious, he flips the crispy Sandwich that is not grilled well yet. When the son reaches the kitchen door, Egon turns slowly to Junior and says

“Your lunch is ready in a second…”

Junior passed in front of Egon with no reaction at all. Egon tried to stop Junior. He opens his mouth and said

“Hey, Juni…”

Egon’s lips paralyze for a second. After a beat, the sound of the entrance door being closed resonated in the house. 

Left alone in the kitchen, Egon looks at a woman's picture that is on the table next to the entrance with other family pictures.  Egon’s back is arched as never before. His body feels heavy. Egon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, then stretches his tight back and exhale. While straightening his back, he opens his eyes and says

“Sigmund, eh”