Screen Door Blues

That old screen door, it groaned and slammed,

again and again, like it was damned

to tell the wind its tired tale.

A rusty spring, a metal wail,

then THWACK! against the splintered frame.

Each time, it called out someone’s name

I couldn’t quite remember, just

a feeling of old, summer dust

and things left hanging, half-said goodbyes.

The mesh was torn, a hundred flies

kept buzzing, trapped between the air

that wants to leave and what is there.

Summer was fading, slow and deep,

while that old door just couldn’t keep

its quiet. It just had to complain,

slamming the past into my brain.