Doorknobs
       

Someday one will turn and slip—hot 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
          you noticed

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
          back
          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?

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Copyright © 2013 Lois Marie Harrod All rights reserved
from Ninth Letter
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission