A Screen Door Slam

Screen door slams
somehow insufficient
for the moment
but they are only metaphoric doors.
They confer no privacy
or safety from whatever evil
may be lurking.

I wonder if the Queen
slams screen doors.
Maybe she has a white-gloved footman
to glide behind
and close the screen behind her
against the bugs of Buckingham.

She’s not like you
and I can say with certainty
she’ll never find herself
standing naked in the dappled moonlight
of my back garden.

What might the neighbour think
awoken by the slam
peering out his bathroom window?
If he could see
the tears that streak your breasts
would he surmise that they are perspiration
or maybe just the early morning dew?

He might be forgiven
if he failed to notice
the brass serpent
clutched in your fist
like some weapon or a Barbie™.