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
         jut
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
         I am,
on the chipped concrete steps
to wait for you to let me in.

-A.S. Coomer

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.