Shallow End

The 'Out of Order' sign

is the only thing working

in this hallway.

Thirty pounds of clay

dragging my shoulder

toward the carpet.

On the fourth landing,

the radiator is hissing

a dry, metallic heat.

I lean my forehead

against the peeling paint

and wait for the static

behind my eyes to clear.

My chest feels like

two brown paper bags

being crumpled up

then slowly,

very slowly,

smoothed out again.