Lobby, New Camera

It wasn't there last week.

Black dome in the corner of the ceiling,

no notice, no email, just the camera

already recording by the time I noticed.

I walked past it this morning

and caught my reflection in the dome—

the fisheye curve stretched the hallway long,

and in it: a small warped figure,

head too large, corridor bending,

everything slightly wrong.

I didn't recognize myself.

That's the part I keep returning to.

Half a second—maybe less—

and I thought: who is that.

Then I knew, and kept walking.

But the half-second stays.

I've been in this building two years.

I know my face in the elevator glass,

in the lobby window at night

when the outside is dark enough to throw it back.

In all of those, I recognize myself immediately.

Something about the dome—

the compression, the whole room

held in one small black circle—

made me someone I didn't place

for just long enough

to feel it.