Good Evening
Key in side pocket
cold fingers fumble it out
Drop it. Hit forehead
on doorknob bending down to
reclaim key. See stars. Lurch. Swear.
Dark house. Cat springs out
Feet tangle and it’s all stop
Cat and person and
tile floor and back-angled wrist
not quite sprained. Swear again. Home.
1/24/19
tanka chain
Claudia McGill Writes Poetry, Did You Know That? 
I can’t remember if I mentioned this to you before, Claudia, but your work reminds of the late, great Raymond Carver. My favourite poet. He’s probably better known for his short stories. If you haven’t done so already, I’d heartily recommend you check him out. I think you’ll like him.
Thank you. Yes, you mentioned it, and I was very flattered by your comparison, because I am familiar with his work now (well, a little, since I have just started reading it) prompted by an earlier comment you made. I also ordered a book of his stories from the library but it has not come in yet. Thank you for the reccomendation, because I am pretty sure I would not have stumbled on to him on my own (I tend to be a thriller reader these days, I find them soothing, if you can believe it).
Yikes! I can picture this scene so vividly!
Yes. Not that this all ever happened to me at one time and I did embroider a little, but I think of all the days we would come home from work (my husband and I drove in together taking our little son to day care) dragging up to the dark house, staggering in. The only thing missing from this poem is rain pouring down and a crying toddler.
Ah yes. I am familiar with that experience of a concatenation of small, annoying events adding to the bone-tired exhaustion at the close of a day.
Yes. And the tireder you are, the more things trip you up. A cascade effect.
Smiling in sympathy. (K)