Frictionless

The ice has a grip on the metal

that my key can't bargain with.

I clicked the Bic until the plastic

warmed my thumb,

then dug a glob of jelly from the jar.

It’s thick and clear as a cataract.

I smeared the lock until it felt

like something that might actually

give an inch.

My thumb left a smudge on the rim,

a gray whorl of dust and grit

frozen into the grease.

The wind took my hat, but the box

finally clicked open.