Dead Weight

He stopped on the landing to reach for his pack,

leaving the upright to strain on my back.

The mahogany groaned like a ship in a gale,

while he looked for a light and a reason to fail.

The nylon is digging a trench in my skin,

frayed where the buckle is wearing too thin.

I’m holding the corner, I’m holding the debt,

for a man who has nothing but smoke and a threat.