Foul Mood Descending a Staircase

In the basement doing laundry,
My mother had no clue,
That her toddler son had turned the lock to the door leading thereto.

I heard footsteps ascend the stairwell—
Methought, “Mom is on her way back!”
But I noticed that the doorknob had begun to jiggle—
Accompanied by a voice in panic:
“Open the door!” my mother yelled,
“Open the door!” I mimicked—

You’ve heard of Nude Descending a Staircase?
Well, my mother was a foul mood descending a staircase,
Trying to find recourse in an unsavory situation.

Outside, a stairway ran alongside the house,
From the cellar to the main story;
Atop the flight was the door that led to the kitchen—
Where I was…and where my mother, also, wanted to be…

So those stairs my mother scaled,
With a swiftness that belied her age—
But ‘twas to no avail;
That door was, too, locked,
And served only to further stoke her rage—

Thus, an even fouler, moodier mood descended another staircase…

Seemingly left with no alternative,
My mother returned to the basement,
A victim of my mischief—
Though I claim I was innocent;
However, that claim would soon be proven ineffective,
As the door miraculously opened upon her final ascent…

…at which point I received the flogging of my young life.

—Kevin B. Waring