The Door Handle

BART door handle

Invited to a lunch I couldn’t duck,
I thought I’d make the transit nice for me.
I’d stroll to BART and ride, and then I’d tuck
another walk in the vicinity
of San Francisco Bay. So I made use
of toilet in the station, trying not
to touch a surface – that was my excuse
for exiting one-fingered. I forgot
how heavy is the handle of that door.
My finger shot pain through my lower arm,
and then my wrist complained that it was sore.
And though I doubt it’s done me lasting harm,
I feel a little humbled and surprised
at evidence I’m finger-compromised.

This entry was posted in Aging, Poetry, Transit and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s