It lies in wait
For spring sunshine to burn it away
Freudian slip, as sixty-four degrees beckon
Freudian, Jungian; all the friends
Who have relationships with the psyche
The partridge picks away at the rape-seed
Oblivious to psychology and its drivers
Prone only to the trigger of instinct
Yet, what seems to be his best friend
(I always see them together)
Is a bird of such fine and loud plumage
Much as I, as a teenager
Wearing lime-green pantaloons
Backcombed auburn hair
Under a mauve fedora
Left the family home
At forty-one Field Head Road
I hitch-hiked
To my first ever music festival
On an island of music, and intimate love
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