A poem by my internet friend who writes what he terms 'so-called poems',

Eric Chaet.

DOORMAN

Good morning, sir, good morning, ma’am.
Yes, I’m wearing a different uniform,
different gloves, different hat.
I’ve cleaned the glass of the door—
I discovered a new solvent.
Isn’t it glorious, how the glass
is so thoroughly transparent,
transmitting sparkle from the Sun?

Yes, you’re right, it’s a different door,
different frame, different hinges, too.
Notice, in fact, that the building
into which I’m ushering you
is a different building
than the one you routinely enter.

Please, take a good look
at your reflection in the glass—
that’s the last you’ll see of it.
It won’t survive the walk across the lobby.
Someone else will step out of the elevator
on a different floor, different company,
different industry, different agenda,
different obstacles, different opportunities,
different priorities, different purpose...