The poem is short and spare, and it builds around one image: a lock that won't open. In the first lines, the speaker says that "early on / all the keys failed." That sounds like a long struggle with something shut tight, though the poem never says what the lock stands for. It could be a person, a relationship, a loss, or an answer the speaker can't reach.
Then the tone shifts. The speaker asks to be told that the lock "lied," or at least to be given some hope. It's a small, almost pleading request, and the title, "Helpless," fits it well. The last image is the strangest and most touching: the speaker imagines talking for an hour "like clerks on a Monday." That is ordinary, tired, unremarkable conversation. Judging by the contrast, the speaker longs for plain closeness after so much failure. The mood is quiet, weary, and wistful, with hope hanging on by a thread.