A Poem of coincidence and frustration.

They make you curse

They make you shout

When they don’t open

That’s why you pout.

They are so cheap

Can’t find a way

To make them open

Day by day.

Others use them

It’s a sin

When given their

Combination.

A locker’s used

To store your stuff,

For banging your head on

When times get tough.

The stupid colors

Seem to crumble

Before your eyes

And whispers and mumbles.

Every year or

So they change

Every year

They re-arrange.

To my confusion

And surprise

Lockers seem

A lot like guys!