Door

It comes up to you and leans close
glowering, it stands over you
it is dressed in armour
steel bars forged in old furnaces
paint shining with a malevolent glitter

beyond it the nameless rumpus
footfalls, dim whistles, a banging—
while it stares impassive, not rude
merely doing its duty
that famous excuse—

its handle juts out, in its
thick way it gives you the fingers.
The door holds the weight of the world,
cringe before it: they do. It steals
days and years of their lives.