The bathroom door it never quite shut right

The bathroom door, it never quite shut right.

It snicked and caught, or stayed ajar, despite

my best intentions, pushing in the latch.

Tonight, I turned it, felt a sudden catch.

The cold metal spun, a useless thing,

not catching hold, no solid spring.

Just turning round and round, a hollow sound,

like hope itself, on shaky ground.

The screw, I saw, was stripped and thin,

a small defeat, letting the cold air in.

And what was held, or thought was fast,

is now just loose, a thing that won't last.

Just wobbles, giving way, a slow despair.

A handle turning, empty, in the air.