Six Floors, No One Speaks

My phone was dead so I had to just

stand there.

Six floors. Two strangers. The particular hum

of the cable doing its job

while nobody looked at anything

except the numbers.

Someone's coffee cup was sweating on the floor —

just set down for a second, or forgotten,

or both — and the ring of it spread slowly

across the tile, and all three of us

watched it happen

like it was a thing that needed witnessing.

Nobody said: hey, your coffee.

Nobody bent down.

The doors opened on four

and one of us left.

The doors opened on six

and the other two of us left

in opposite directions

without eye contact, which takes

a specific kind of effort.

The cup was still in there.

I thought about it in the meeting.

That spreading ring.

How none of us claimed it.