The Open Door
Rob McKinnon
Red geraniums bloom
in the front garden
otherwise choking with weeds.
Rotting junk mail
stuffed into the filled letter box
hangs precariously
waiting to join other remnants
already on the ground.
White paint flakes from the front bay window
as faded curtains droop unevenly
falling off their rings.
Filled dusty cardboard boxes
on a broken cloth couch
crams under the front veranda.
The open front door held ajar by a shoe
exposes the filling clutter in the hallway
seen from the footpath through the geraniums
and acts as an escape route
for the melodic piano notes
played with pounding passion
accompanying the crescendo of a symphony
booming in the background.
Street traffic rattles passed
not paying any attention.
