My first key had no key­hole
but I felt grown up any­way. I had
re­spon­si­bil­i­ty now, and se­crets
though even I did not know what
lay be­hind its lock. I would play
with my parent’s keys and ask
them to tell me sto­ries about
each, this one opens the
door to work, where things I
wasn’t quite grown up enough
to un­der­stand were done so that
I could have Frosted Flakes and
new shoes.