The Clean Out

The landlord’s typing in the group chat again,

asking for the keys by half-past ten.

I’ve scrubbed the baseboards and mopped the floor,

but the silence is leaning against the door.

In the corner of the shelf, tucked out of sight,

is a dead AAA battery, silver and light.

I stare at the floor where the rug used to sit,

at the pale wooden ghost, and the shape of it.