Tappety Tap Tap

by Sam Herschel Wein

---

It's me, knocking on your door. Slabbety 
slab of the wrist, I'm here to share my good 

word. I'm here to talk of my friend who passed
away, Ian. Clunkety clunk of my shifting

feet, squeakety squeak, the wooden floor
of the traveling doorway. It's me. And my

friend died. Three months ago. Nobody asks
me about it. Not once, a person has brought

it up, and said, "I know you lost someone
dear, are you well?" I'm tired of holding

my breath and clenching my toes for 
this, I guess I've become religious, or with-

out my logical mind, or a traveling door 
knocker. Rupturing wreck of my

side fist, slamming each door 'til the
pieces fall off. Is this what the people

I love want from me? Wandering an 
empty lot, thinking it’s heaven’s mansions,

trying for the right door? Ian won't
answer, I've forced myself to accept 

that. The least you could do, then, 
is pull me by my ankles, toss me like a 

sack of sugar onto the couch and ask 
how my dead friend and I met, the 

littlest ways in which we loved, our 
favorite soda or banter, and what I miss 

most about them walking through 
faces in the busy city.

---

Sam Herschel Wein (he/they) is a Chicago-based poet who specializes in perpetual frolicking. Their second chapbook, GESUNDHEIT!, a collaboration with Chen Chen, was part of the 2019-2020 Glass Poetry Press Series. He co-founded and edits Underblong. Recent work can be found in perhappened mag, The Adroit Journal, and Sundog Lit, among others.