The Key Poem by Gregory Bell

Mother sews a collar for my keys
works just fine
used to always lose them
Father pulls up
in a pickup full of groceries
I offer to bring them in
and put the truck
in the garage
but I can't find my keys
So I set out
down the street
to find the Keeper of the Key
over potholes man-hole deep
falling bricks flaming timbers from con-
struction rusty nails seeking out a consummation
in the flesh
rabid rats scurry everywhere
through the glowering hills and
despite warning cries of a murder
of crows
and a scarlet star that stabs my marrow
on I trudge through neon clash of clouds
up the footpath toward the Sufi's
angry angel