Three Times Over

I turn the key, it clicks, it's done,

the deadbolt slides, the door is shut.

But then my mind has just begun

to fret and stir, to press and cut.

I pull the knob, a solid grip,

it holds its own, it will not yield.

But still, a worry starts to slip

through cracks I thought were long since sealed.

I try again, my fingers cold,

against the metal, smooth and stark.

It's locked, a story often told.

Yet in the quiet, in the dark,

I know I'll test it, one more time.