hinges creaky

lock long rusty

paint a-peeling and vaguely musty

 

swinging days gone

these days shut fast

seems years since I last had a blast

 

footsteps on stairs,

sapling lingers

turns my knob with leafy fingers

 

I stay rigid

want her naughty

instead, sprays my key-hole with WD-40

 

sap linament

for ancient joints

soothing salve an oaken soul anoints

 

back with a bloke

my lock springs free

they're saying this will be the nursery

 

on pinefloor-boards

his thrusting butt

hardwood at the spectacle, I discreetly shut