Low Stakes

The meeting was about the quarterly goals

when the ceiling started to scream.

We all stood up in a slow, dumb line

like we were caught in a stream.

The boss grabbed his leather briefcase tight

but left his gold band on the wood.

He ran for the stairs without a look back

as fast as he possibly could.

The red strobe hit the cubicle wall,

a jagged, artificial flare.

We stood in the parking lot in the wind

with the smell of exhaust in the air.