It was time for Mary to go,

But she couldn’t find her keys.

John had them in his pocket,

He was the kind who liked to tease.


She was getting in a panic,

She was searching high and low.

John feigned equal concern.

How little did Mary know.


He walked her to her car to look,

Again, for the seventh time.

John thought all of it as a joke,

No harm done and no crime.


When finally, he gave back her keys,

She had no smile and less to say,

She left him standing in his yard,

As angrily she sped away.


She may have wished it on him,

As she drove home in a pout,

For when he got back to his door,

He found himself locked out.

Marlene Tucker, a native of Haslet, Texas, makes her home on a farm just outside Axtell with her husband, Bill. She says there is a poetic story in almost everything. Email her at