Hands in Pockets

I'm at my friend's place and they mention the door,

how it won't close right, how it sticks,

how the frame is warped or the latch won't catch,

and I know exactly what's wrong,

I can see it from across the room,

I know how to fix it, I've fixed a hundred doors,

and I say so. I offer. And they look at me

like I've offered them a recipe for something

nobody eats, like I've spoken in a language

they don't understand, like I've just said

something that doesn't make sense in their world,

and they smile and thank me but they don't want it,

don't want me to fix it, don't want my hands

on their door, don't want the help,

and I put my hands in my pockets

because that's what you do when someone

doesn't want what you're offering,

and I stand there knowing exactly how to fix it,

knowing exactly what needs to happen,

knowing exactly which tool and which motion,

and it doesn't matter because nobody asked,

nobody wants it, and I'm just the person

who knows useless things,

who can do useless things,

who has spent years learning how to do things

that nobody needs, that nobody cares about,

that matter to no one, including myself,

and I'm standing in someone's living room

with the solution in my hands, literally,

in the skill of my hands,

and there's no emergency, no disaster,

nothing that needs solving,

just a door that won't close,

and I'm useless.