Two keys on a rusty ring.
On one key
there is a label:  “Front Door.”
I assume the unlabeled one
is the back door. 

The key labeled “Front Door”
unlocks the back door
as well.  The unlabeled key
unlocks nothing at all
I can find.

I hang the useless key
on a leather thong around my neck,
cold there for a moment
until my skin warms it enough
for me to forget it’s there.

What to do now —

shall I spend the entire day
worrying that the missing label fell off
or the other was misapplied,
thinking about a door I must have missed,
or hovering in the open doorways,
awaiting the imminent arrival
of spring?