Nobody's

We'd cleared everything out by noon.

The closet was last — coats, then a box

of hangers someone had bent

into new shapes and left behind.

And then we saw it.

Low on the baseboard. A small orange disc,

still plugged in.

A coin of light on nothing.

Nobody said anything for a second.

My friend didn't recognize it.

I didn't.

We looked at the landlord.

Leave it, he said. Next tenant.

So we left it.

I've been leaving it ever since —

in the back of something I can't close,

the orange still on,

the closet still empty,

and nobody's name

anywhere near it.