The Gatekeeper

I haven’t slept a full eight hours

in probably about 14 years.

I will usually go to bed around 11 or midnight,

like a lot of people,

but I wake up every night,

at 3:23 a.m., on the dot.

I am wide awake then,

and I won’t be able to go back to sleep

until I go to the front door

and see who’s there.

I don’t always see anything,

but most nights I do.

A bitter old man,

a gaunt young woman,

two bewildered teenage boys,

a hissing possum.

That was just in one night!

I have to lead them to the garden shed in the back

and open the door.

They walk in and disappear.

Then my job for the night is done.

I don’t know why I was chosen for this,

or what would have happened if, say,

I worked midnights at a gas station.

I don’t really know what happens to them after.

Some are very sad,

some are relieved,

some look distracted

like there was something they were just about to say

but forgot.

I don’t really know what to say.

So most of the time, I don’t say anything,

but I try to look kind behind my bleary eyes.

A smile and a nod,

close the door behind them.

Head back into the house

refill the dogs’ water bowl.

A quick gulp of water

from the glass next to the bathroom sink.

Then return to my warm bed.