Final Walkthrough

He smells like menthol and a bad divorce,

ticking boxes on a clipboard with a plastic pen.

The apartment is a hollow drum now,

every step I take in these boots

booming off the walls like an accusation.

The rug is gone, and in its place

a rectangle of wood that stayed the right color

while the rest of the floor faded under the sun.

It’s a clean ghost of where I used to sit.

He doesn't see the ghost.

He just sees the scuff marks near the radiator

and the way I can't quite look him in the eye.