Dry Lube

The brass key fought me again.

I stood in the hallway, cursing the air,

until I found the Number 2 in the junk drawer.

I took the paring knife and shaved the lead,

letting the black dust fall into the mouth

of the cylinder.

A turn, a click, a surrender.

I wiped my thumb on my jeans

but the silver smudge stayed put,

a fake bruise marking the place

where I finally won a small, stupid fight.