The Doorman

Knock and it will be opened.

Ah, said gentle Francis,

fingering the keys of the kingdom

in the pocket of his white cassock.

That door is closed.

There is, of course, a separate entrance

for the so-precious ladies,

around the back,

near the shrine of the Madonna.

But that massive bronze door,

admittedly tarnished,

is closed.

The author is a retired English teacher in Long Beach.

Read more: Opinion poetry by Times readers