date night: door



I don’t even get to say

That I swing both ways,

Because she won’t even look at me.

But this is par for the course,

Head off at ninety,

Peeling labels off sauce,

Amassing salt,

I’ve seen it all before.


What was it she said?

Transparent? One-sided?

A pushover? Unhinged?

As critique, it’s technically weak,

As I have two sides, at least

And four hinges, at the time of press,

And some kinder souls might allow that,

A glass heart ne’er did harm

To fair wench, lest a gentleman hold me ajar,

With his limbs outstretched

And wait and wait but remain unchecked.

And also, i might add, if I  may,

This coat’s fresh on today.


No exit, no fires, no names in lights,

Royal timber, hewn from evergreen block,

From chainsaw blade and sopping twine,

To brassy pushplates and a fat waiter’s behind

That is my jamb, my friends, that is my jamb.

And who goes on a date with a door?

Maybe this isn’t a date, more a fixture.

No, wait, this is a date.

I’m a fixture.