A Door

You know, I don't have a door anymore.

But, well, I guess I could. If I wanted to carry one around with me.

You know, like that guy on— who brings one home for his girl?

It was on a commercial on TV, I don't have one anymore.

Man I can do this for hours.

You know I don't have a T.V. anymore, clean clothes anymore, a door anymore, a home anymore.

But this really ain't that funny is it?

I never did want to lose my door.

It just closed one day, and I happened to be on the wrong side of it.

I musta miss placed my key.

I tried to call the locksmith.

They couldn't help.

That door, they said, no longer belonged to me.

You wanna hear a joke?

What do you call a guy with no home, and who don't seem to be able to find one?

A joke! Get it?

Yeah I know it ain't funny.

You see doors are wood.

And so really shouldn't mean that much.

And on their own, they don't.

I could probably find a door-somewhere-if I tried.

Even set it up in the street somewhere and walk through it, over and over.

People would probably think I'm crazy.

Or I could hide behind the door and then open it as someone walked past and scream "Gothca!"— That might even be funny.

I doubt it.

But see a door, that don't really mean shit. It's the stuff on the other side of it that matters.