Not Knowing

I never know when I walk through the door. We vary so much, life and death, cuts, scrapes, and colds. Every day, I approach, not knowing, whether to run. We are a revolving door, 24/7, always ready. We wait daily, not knowing, if it's slow, we look for the other shoe, dangling, waiting to drop as death hovers nearby/ As I place my hand on the door, I wonder... What's it like today? Then I push on through and start my work.