the key

it’s not much, a key to a door.
it’s a light thing, or chunky, maybe, if there are more.
it’s the weight when without one that i most deplore.

a mate gives you safety
a couch for the night.
til you twig you’ve been hasty
he’s one aim in sight.
and it’s you.

a doorway looks sheltered
hunker down, nest
til pubs all turf out
the drunk wankers. the pests.
which is you.

a van is much safer
if warm, dry, and yours.
til the doggers start barking
forcing flee from the moors.
which aren’t yours.

Come! Stay at my place!
says the warmest embrace.
here’s the keys, and your space,
hope you’re fine with the mess.

… And you just think: bless.