Stuck at the Gate

The day was long, a grey sheet torn,

my pockets light, my spirit worn.

I pushed my card, a hopeful swipe,

against the bar, the metal ripe

with yesterday's commute and rain.

It clicked, but then it jammed again.

The man behind me gave a sigh,

a soft sound, asking me, "Why?"

The metal arm, it held its ground,

refusing motion, making no sound

but my own breath caught.

A simple path, now tightly wrought

with solid steel.

I couldn't move, how did it feel?

Just stuck.