“INTRENT REDEANIQ FOELICES” said
the stone above the door above my head.
My Latin’s no good, but I think it means
“Enter and be happy” which, to me, seems
presumptuous and demanding by turns.
What can an old door know of my concerns?
What old Italian carver thought, “Best
to ensure that when I receive a guest,
I will not suffer the angry or sour?”
You don’t know me, door. I never glower.
I am – exceedingly! – calm and serene,
and I don’t ever need to vent my spleen.
Then again, I’ve some things to answer for:
I seem to be arguing with a door.
god america i 