She was always so careless

with things

the way some doors

would slam behind her

in a thunder

announcing her commings

and leavings.

At other times

they swung

haphazardly ajar,

completely forgotten.

Her life was a dangerzone

of distruction and inattention,

she never turned the locks

because she never bothered

with keys.

The screendoor

battering in the wind

was the drumb beat

she dance to.

She never blinked an eye

when the rain and leaves

came sweeping inside.

But at a moments notice

without explination

she could batten down

all the hatches and latch

all the latches.

Rusty hinges

spoke her name

with unsettiling familarity.

She felt no obligatory

compuntion to be summoned

by knocking, oppertunity

or otherwise all had to await

her will and whim.