The Key Poem by Hans Ostrom

There's someone in the basement wailing.
It must be that fellow other tenants call Poe.
That's all I know. Wailing and Poe.
I don't own, don't hold the keys to,
that ambitious dungeon. Otherwise,
I'd push trepidation aside and descend
toward the sound like a responsible person.

I start wailing myself. Weakly, at first.
And I begin to wonder what the tenants
will call me, if indeed mournful cries
lead to nicknames and dungeons. It
all depends on what the rules are. The key
will be to know who has the key.



hans ostrom 2017