rusted iron post

the landlord won't buy a new latch. i am tying the broken gate to a rusted iron post. the orange plastic string is cheap. it frays at the ends like dead hair. i pull it tight. the cord cuts deep into my bare hands. a thin line of blood shows up under the dirt. the rotted wood still sags toward the street. i tie off a sloppy knot. i wipe my palm on my pants and leave the blood on the plastic.