Poetry: Rhys Mumford

On Opening A Door

When I left the cafe
I planted my leading foot beside the door
The front of my shoe just nudging the skirting
And I reached for the handle
with my opposite hand.
I only mention this because
(and eschewing false modesty)
my positioning was perfect.
It was perfect.
My carriage optimally aligned,
I was centred, in equilibrium,
I was the Platonic ideal of a Archimedean lever.
I pulled the door towards me
with balance, fluidity and poise.
In short I do not think
I could have opened that door
any better than I did.
And if anybody were watching
Perhaps they would have thought:
We do not know the situation of this man
His career-prospects
Personality
Or status of his soul
But this we know:
On one occasion
Here, this day,
he opened that door
Magnificently.
I wonder if
anybody
noticed.