Locked Out.
 
Sometimes you are a sealed strong box with no spare key .
I strive to jemmy you with chisel questions-but scrap my skin,
struggle to unpick you with hair pin chatter –but prick my fingers,
smarting I watch TV , listen for your combination click, Can I get you anything?

Fiona Sinclair

If you have any comments on this poem,  Fiona Sinclair would be pleased to hear from you.