The Gate

There was a gap in the fence
When I was younger.
Anything could charge through,
Bulls, bears, weasels, wasps, warthogs,

The gate is there now,
And just within the fence,
An armchair with many soft pillows
Where I sit.

The beasts who would enter must stop,
And stand where I can see.
They must carry no force of fear or grandiosity,
Offer no trades, memberships,
Or time-limited 90% off sales,
To come into my land.

I will listen to them state their passionate causes,
But ends and means must harmonize.

Many snorting, pawing beasts have to go stand off in a field
To collect themselves.
I may nap.
When I wake up, most of those have vanished.

An endless circus of elephants and asses press on the gate,
Trumpeting and braying louder and louder,
In response to being regarded less and less.