Closed Doors

 

They’re everywhere. From suburbs into town,

outnumbering the open ones by day

and, home by home, replacing them by night,

and leaving, flatly, plainly on display

the true and sheer extent of privacy,

which flanks us, wall to wall – a great unknown.

 

And in between, on narrow thoroughfares

is crammed the public space, itself scaled down

by cars, clothes, headphones, and, should there be talk,

the need for what we hear to go unshown.

Give me a hand to knock, or hold a flashlight.

A fire is on there, somewhere through the dark.