the new man

the new door man
is different. sure, he's
wearing the same suit,
a deep red,
the brocade of gold
braids
looping across his shoulders,
the glimmer of brass buttons
adorning his long coat.
he tilts his hat,
its shiny black brim
with a similar
motion, but he's not
the old door man,
he's not the guy who
said hello
using your name, telling
you the weather
as you left the building
each morning.
he's short and squat,
unlike
the other man, having
already forgotten his name.
but he was tall
and slender.
dapper in his boots.
quick to smile, always knowing
what or what not
to say.
there is no news on what
happened, why
the change. was it death
or illness,
perhaps he's working
somewhere else, or bored
from the task
at hand.
how fast things change
when we get
used to them, nothing
ever staying the same.