The elevator has been out since Tuesday

The elevator has been out since Tuesday

so I climb past the smell of cabbage and wet dogs.

On the fourth floor, the air gets thin

and my chest decides to stop cooperating.

I lean against the peeling floral wallpaper

and hack a heavy, rattling sound into my sleeve.

Outside the window, a blue grocery bag

is snagged on a branch of the scrawny elm,

heaving and sagging with the gray afternoon.

A pair of fake lungs that never get full.