Group-Analytic Contexts, Issue 80, June 2018
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Newsletter – Summer <strong>2018</strong> 75<br />
Who was soft and warm and good<br />
For keeping pyjamas in.<br />
Jonathan Oedipus James loved his mother.<br />
His mother loved him.<br />
So he hadn’t wanted to tell a lie<br />
When she came downstairs from the bedroom where<br />
She’d tied her hair in a knot and hung<br />
The twinkle stones about her neck<br />
And asked” “Where’s Laius?”<br />
He hadn’t wanted to tell a lie<br />
To tell her how he didn’t know<br />
How Laius had said he’d had to go<br />
How probably he’d come back soon<br />
Like he always came<br />
Late at night, to take her away<br />
With her all done up in her twinkle stones<br />
And her hair in a knot and her giggly giggly way.<br />
Jonathan Oedipus James loved his mother.<br />
His mother loved him.<br />
Yet easy-peasy it had been -<br />
When he’d seen the cellar door swing wide<br />
And spied the crumbly steps behind<br />
The man with the smell of something sickly sweet<br />
As his grin bent down with its stubbly chin to kiss him -<br />
To push<br />
To watch with his head on one side<br />
As the big polished shoes with the slippery soles<br />
And the black black suit and the frilly shirt<br />
Went tumbling rumbling down down down<br />
To the spidery eerie ever-so shivery oh so black below.<br />
Jonathan Oedipus James loved his mother.<br />
His mother loved him.<br />
And so he could not bear to see<br />
Her sitting alone<br />
All done up in her twinkle stones and her hair in a knot<br />
To see her, sobbing, slip to the floor<br />
And her face slip too to a blackish blue<br />
For he was Jonathan Oedipus James who<br />
Loved his mother.
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