Featured Poem 6/2/05

Missing the Elevator

Thirty feet of carpet separates her
from the closing doors.  She might have made it.
The car plummets to the underground garage.
Marooned again.  But why?  The building is safe;
there's never been a rape.  At every floor
the metal cage would tell her where she is.
The lobby is bright.  There must be many ways
to exit the place.  A little air, she knows,
would do her good.  She's fine as far as the Dales,
a couple down the hall.  After that,
strangers often walk toward her, whistling
or slightly grinning.  Lately, neighbors stare.
She fears that when the elevator empties
something quiet waits for her inside.

Richard Merelman


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