Today's poem is by Lois Marie Harrod
Someday one will turn and sliphot and heavy
from your hand and you will hear
its twin clunk on the other side of the bedroom
and there will be the door between the two of you,
as it has been, apparently, before
and you will wish, since you are the wishing sort
that you had the skill, mechanical or social,
to slip knobs, grease locks.
You haven't been drinking, so it isn't the gin
that keeps you from sliding the spindle
through the spindle hub.
It's ignorance-you don't even know the rod
in your hand is called a spindle.
Stupid you, mistaking a cell phone
for a doorknob.
You don't understand what you have done
until the fireman bashes the door down
and then what to say?
How could you have guessed
your whole house was burning?
Copyright © 2013 Lois Marie Harrod All rights reserved
from Ninth Letter
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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