Between the hours of twelve and one
sleep comes upon my head

and should I not doze off outright
I make prepared for bed

and every night I do the same
with flossed and brushèd teeth

the coffee *** is timed to brew,
sleep setting on T.V.

There's little more a man could do
inside so small a space

with front door locked, and lights turned out
I tend to end my days.

Yet there's one thing I leave unchecked
and do so knowingly:

The Peephole in my ten'ment door
does seem to stare at me.

But never shall I look again,
not through that small inlet,

because one fateful night I did,
and now I can't forget.

It was a night without a mark
to make it stand apart—

I thought about the coming day
while walking through the dark.

And without thought, I stole a glance
outside onto the street

and through the peephole, there it stood
just staring right at me.

If somehow it could sense my gaze,
I really could not say—

with heart in mouth, I held my breath
and tried to slink away.

I crept in bed and pulled the sheets
around my trembling frame

and sat upright, until the night
did give way to the day.

A knock upon my door at nine
aroused me from my state

"Delivery!" a voice called out—
no longer could I wait.

I sprang from bed, my nightclothes on
and toward the door I ran

and without looking, opened
hoping I would see a friend.

Instead I looked around in shock,
for nobody was there—

no package left upon my stoop,
and silence in the air.

And as I went to close the door,
a wind began to blow,

a wind that whispered secrets that
no man should ever know.

I went inside, and horrified,
I knew I'd paid a toll,

and nevermore could I feel safe
to look from my peephole.