I hear the door close, one of many,

after one, after one,

I could do the same, shut the door,

slam it, barricade it completely

and let go, hide behind the door,

behind the memory of everything that ever went wrong,

my door, my fault, I am so very sorry

to have let it get to the point

where even the postman cannot push the letterbox,

cannot dump the adverts, the mix and match rubbish

bag fillers, the black plastic coffin

for the unwanted junk mail for this junk male,