A Front Fence Gate Poem by Lynn W. Petty

I wonder if a front fence gate reveals
The attitude of he who dwells therein,
Or is it just a pretense that conceals
The inner truth of tendency within?

Remembering when I was young, I'd go
From home to school, return the self same way
At school's day end, so many years ago.
I recognized each gate as my display,
A measured distance from my house to 'there.'
But, through that recognition, they took on
A character, a quality, an air,
A personality, a face upon
A blank and seemingly benign fence gate.
Through childhood fantasy, as I would walk
The curbless road to home, or navigate
Around or through the puddles, gates would talk
To me in silent comprehension. They
Conveyed a warmth or warning with their style.
That wrought iron gate with bars like pikes would say,
With deep foreboding frowns and shadowed smile,
The countenance of Satan, its design,
'Beware, for reasons of your soul's despair! '
I saw his face, too shaded to define,
But certain of that awful grin, from where
I stood, while peeking through those iron gray bars.
I saw the visage of our hamlet's rich
Old recluse, Thaddeus Von Eldergars.
My heart would skip a beat; migrating twitch
Of trepidation coursed my spine and burst
Upon my brain, exploding energy
To churn my legs to motion. I was cursed,
I knew, by Beelzebub. All lethargy
Had disappeared, as speed was my intent.
I passed all other gates without address,
As reach and range was more expedient.
And then, my gate, a visual caress
That cleared the fear from my fear-clouded sight.
I ran beneath the arch-like trellis dome,
And threw the latch and bolt. Displacing fright,
I felt a surge of valor, I was home.
But, what about the question first above
As asked? Are gates symbolic of the man,
Or was our Thaddeus a creature of
Our mind? Did life collapse upon his plan?
Was avarice his only enterprise?

When I became adult I sought to solve
The question of his being; analyze,
Examine all I found that might involve
A man whose cynicism knew no bounds.
At his demise, I purchased, sight unseen,
His personal estate, which still dumbfounds,
Bewilders those so eager to demean.
For what I had astonished me. In awe
I read his soulful journal with a sad
And mournful heart. Not wishing to withdraw
But, living made it so, his loss forbade
His interest when his grief replaced his wife.
Maintaining social consciousness, aware
Of fiscal maintenance, our hamlet's strife,
He formed a special banker's trust to care
For children who excelled to higher grades;
To further their desires, foster their
Careers. His generosity pervades
The very substance of our village life.
Even I, a beneficiary.
Meticulous, his register was rife
With names of those he helped. Legionary
By their count; anonymously done from
Behind that dark and ominous front gate.
Within his will he spoke an axiom,
A covenant, bequeathing his estate
To those who would appreciate his best.
To all the children he bestowed his ground,
His property, for which he made behest
Upon the elders of this town. He bound
Them to a promise that they raze his old
Brick house, eradicating memories
Too doleful to exist. 'This land, ' he told
Them from his will, 'Must have amenities
That cause the laughter, joy and, cheer that spring
From children hard at play. This acreage will
Become a park, a playground, garlanding
The name of my demised young wife, Joanille.'

Before the razing of the premises,
I bought the gate at auction for my own.
Installed, it hardly looked the nemesis
That I remember when so young. Unknown
To those who walk the walkway to my door,
It is a gate without identity.
To him, a camouflage, that heretofore
Gave cover to his liberality.
To me, a screen to hide the soul of truth;
A veil of iron to cloak his silent grace;
To guard an altruist, who lived without a face.