THE HEAVY BLUE DOOR

I peeked through the gray sun-bathed vent

Of the heavy blue door- for repair ‘t was meant.

Coal dust floating merrily in the morning,

Hey, and on a winter Sunday, with little warning!

The door made a shy, embarrassed groan,

As I pulled it in and the greeters were shown.

All their smiles smelt of a refreshing, warm flavour-

Honest. Tomorrow would do me no such favour.

The wood has been falling off in chips

And the steady, agonizing coming-to-grips.

I thought. Skillful to say the least-

Just concealing the early morning beast.