There’s a random number of people you meet at the doorway.

Someone’s coming out

As you’re going in.

Someone’s going in

Just behind you.

You hold the door for him or her.

She or he holds it open for you.

Some will blindly walk on through.

But there’s a random number of people 

You’ll meet at the doorway.

Some may offer a quiet smile,

Some a mischievous grin.

Someone’s always coming out,

But who may be coming in

Just behind you?

Now it’s time to go back out.

I’ll wait for you.

I’ll hold the door just so,

Until the noir of night

If I have to.

The moon shines bright,

The light of day,

There’s certainly nothing random about that?

And neither may there be

Anything random about

The people you meet

At the doorway.

-jenn