It’s like a lion at the door (Charles Perrault)

Now you’re here, remember there’s another world
outside. In here it’s years ago and we’ve moved on.
And we can shrug and walk away. The walls
are quiet now, the sounds that they absorbed
may mutter in the dark, but we’ll be gone.

Remember how the door closed. Strange —
you’d think a thing as thick as this could keep
the anger well away, but even when
they slammed it shut the voices seeped in, strained
and muted by the wood — reduced to whispers,
but caustic, seething still. Let’s close it now —
it’s time to leave. Before we go, though,’run
your hand along the panels — notice how
the festering paint and varnish lift away
in tiny blisters.