The Slip and the Swing

The steam has made the wooden casing swell,

a humid, heavy kind of private hell.

I pull the handle tight and hear the click,

but the house has played another hollow trick.

The silver plate is seated far too low,

a half-inch gap where the bolt refuses to go.

The latch is useless, the privacy is thin,

as the cold air and the hallway light drift in.