I dreamt that I broke my key
off in the side door
and not for the first time.
I stood there,
wide-eyed and open-mouthed,
looking at the fat bit of bronzed metal
in my hand and the jagged
sticking out of the off-white door.
I sighed. Feeling it as real and definite,
as large as any of the other disappointments
I’ve made in my recent life.
I turned around, scanned the houses
—all built in the boomtime of the 40’s,
white washed, cracked & peeling—
to make sure none of
my nosey neighbors were watching
then set myself down,
heavy and awkward
like the sack
of new potatoes
on the chipped concrete steps
to wait for you to let me in.
A.S. Coomer is a native Kentuckian serving out a purgatorial existence somewhere in the Midwest. His work has appeared in over thirty publications. He’s got a handful of novels that need good homes. You can find him at www.ascoomer.wordpress.com. He also runs a “record label” for poetry: www.lostlonggoneforgottenrecords.wordpress.com.