In the Freud Museum
At Berggasse 19,
The loo (where perhaps the great man had sat)
Was out of order.
What had he thought, I wondered,
As he pondered
On life.
In the consulting room,
A woman was talking loudly;
I studied photographs
Which I no longer remember,
Even under the influence
Of ink.
I thought of das Sofa,
That famous couch,
Far away in Hampstead;
How I'd kept watch
While you took a photo
On the quiet.
It’d felt eerie
Like watching the dead,
Or them watching us,
Which is much the same thing,
I imagine.
Leaving, I felt none the wiser,
Stepping out
Onto a damp Vienna street,
To find life waiting
Almost where I'd left it.
