amphibi.us

I release the angry door, which jars into its frame with an impressive gale force.
We are both in the structure, in from the windstorm.

I was only trying out consideration, holding the door for a stranger behind,
that the wind might not take her teeth out with let-loose metal door.
There are no thanks, she is angry at my consideration.
I see the books she carries and it all slides into place.

Were she to speak to me, she might rather spit.

There will be no holding open of doors we might share, for a time.
She would rather us be philosophies than strangers, schools of thought
instead of humans that share oxygen and floors and structures and doors,

She might hope I become culpable for a manner of things
far outside myself.

© Ray Succre, 2010