She Hit Me With A Door! Poem by John W. McEwers

I shoulda known the day I walked in and saw the dents in the front and side
and back
of her front door side door sliding door cellar.
Each and everyone of them dang doors dented
with the dings of the past future present tense moments
clearly moments tense enough to move the doors in motion for the moment.

Shoulda known I could known that to know this woman is to know
The makeup of the doors that makeup the interior of her soul.
Wood.
Particle.
Aluminum.
Stone.

I told her once I could replace that squeaky hinge with a new one oiled very good.

She oiled me good after that.

And then the door swung fast as a flash of lighting bashed
against the side front back of my skull
dimmed the lights
and the oil poured out.
In clumps.
on the stone.

One more dang dent on the door
One poor John poured on the floor.