The Latch

Would he be 60, this man
toe-punting the hook and eye latch
securing the firm’s caravan door?

Such a performance
to keep his balance, he went on
to back-heel it instead

when in two ticks
he could have slipped it free
by reaching out, bending his knees.

But this amiable man with family
hatchback and detached bungalow
started kung fu-ing it

until the hook dangled
by one screw, the eye pinged off
nowhere on the waste ground.

No door now, just a board banging
in a squall has him lurching
into the driving rain,

grappling to pull the thing to,
almost mashing his fingers
in the jamb, effing away

that soon it would be off its hinges
for any Tom, Dick or Harry
to come waltzing through.