The Cold Front

The elevator doors began to slide,

and for a second, we were stuck inside.

I saw the way you looked right through my face,

as if I were a shadow in the space.

The lobby floor was polished, hard, and bright,

but you were finished with the day’s polite.

Your laundry soap was sharp, a clinical sting,

the scent of someone done with everything.

You didn't nod or offer up a word,

you stood as if my breathing wasn't heard.

The silence was a slab of granite stone,

leaving me in the hallway, quite alone.