The Last Ordinary Tuesday

I found the slip in the pocket of my coat,

a scrap of yellow paper from a month ago.

It’s just a date and a scribbled little note

about a blazer I needed for a show.

That was the morning he was sweeping the hall,

complaining about the winter and the grit.

I gave a polite nod, and that was all,

not knowing it was the absolute end of it.

I didn't say goodbye or even stay

to hear the rest of what he had to say.

I just walked out into the Tuesday gray

and let the swinging door get in the way.

Now there’s a wire hanger rattling on his door,

a hollow sound that echoes in the wood.

I have the jacket that I needed for the chore,

but I’d trade the sleeve to stand back where I stood.