Stuck at the Gate

Card in. Clack.

Spits it back out, a rude snap.

Again. Clack. No.

The green light stays red.

My stomach presses against the bar,

cold, unmoving steel. It bites into me.

The line grows behind, a low murmur of shoes,

impatient breath.

My jaw tightens. Just for a second,

my fist wanted to hit it, wanted that solid bar

to give, to spin, to finally let me through.