EMPLOYEE

My old friend has hired

The ghost of Sigmund Freud

As her typist. He’s grumpy

And sometimes translates

Her writing into literary German

Still, it seems to work. Judges -

She’s a lawyer -- are used

To looking grave over papers

They don’t understand.

When she asks him why

He’s returned from beyond

To type for such meager pay

He only nods and says

" Warum stellst du diese Frage?"

PHOTOGRAPH

Only the base of the statue shows

And a bit of the indeterminate garment –

Could be robes; could be a long coat –

The honored dead sometimes put on

When they’re being sculpted,

Politely saving the artist the trouble

Of being over-nice about anatomy.

Still, I know the photo was taken

In Hyde Park, at the Masaryk Memorial.

For years I saw that statue every day

Casually saluting it when I went by.

A young man I’ll know when he’s old

Sits next to the pedestal. My dear fellow!

How well you looked back then

With something rakish about you

And the faintest hint of the engineer

You might have been but for the War.

So you and Masaryk knew each other?

Pity I never knew; we might have shared

A few stories about you.