the peephole

I’m not sure when or if it was reinvented to its present form,

or if the height of it has remained standard through human evolution,

or if the guy in 803 who is wheel-chair dependent has one at 5 feet high,

or if it's been installed incorrectly so the outside can look inside, but—

I seem to make use of the peephole more often now that I ever did.

a knock on the door across the hall, the elevator doors chime open,

or the custodian's pushing the massive floor polisher heaving

like crazy "fatso" Tony Corvelli doing the "slop" at the old CYO dancehall.

but it doesn't matter.

soon enough someone else'll be asking these same questions

from behind the same door contemplating the same peephole.

I’m living within society's earthbound definition of purgatory.

the peephole will continue to take leave of my senses,

and there's little doubt  that the peephole will outlive me.

but as Vito Corleone said to Amerigo Bonasera: "buonasera. buonasera".