back door blue

in there
upstairs
where no one visits
her mustache bristles
and flotsam and jetsam
is wracked up like
barge trash beached after a nor'easter
nowhere to turn
your coat catches on a doorknob
nowhere to sit
your foot sets down on
what is it
i dropped a tomato she says
and you dance around it
looking for the door
the exit
we're just doing the best we can
she says