The Heavy Base

I walked in from the park, letting the heavy front door seal out the evening air. Beside the low runner stood the tall coat tree, anchored by a fluted cast-iron disc. At its center lay a small brass pocket key, forgotten in the ribbed depression of the base. I sank onto the floorboards, planting my wide feet flat. I wedged the curved tip of my right claw beneath the brass stem. Cold metal scraped against rough iron. With a deliberate, patient levering, I hoisted the key upright until it stood wedged tight between two raised cast ribs. Solid balance. It did not topple.