meetings raze through the peephole i watch a man with grey hair and a well-kept beard gather his guts before stepping onto the side porch i've always thought of as the front face of this bifurcated house. a friend of my father's. their shared history is almost a physical presence. he shakes my hand twice. the second time all i get is loose skin. he tells me he was sick a week ago. i ask if he's feeling better now. mostly, he says. i catch my reflection in the monitor hitched to an old desktop computer. i'm not myself. i'm no one i know. the man invites me to a meeting and asks about my crimes. i tell him all my misdeeds are shrinking in the rear_view_mirror. he isn't listening. he's already on his way out. 250503 what's it to you? who go blather from