Geraldine Connolly
IN THE ELEVATOR
he’s trying to pull me in,
no one nearby to watch
as the door ripples shut
and I see only
the burning ash,
his dyed locks,
nicotine-stained teeth,
Hi doll he whispers,
yellow claw twisting
my hand and the fear
like a sharp wind in my chest
there in my tight dress
and sling-back heels I see
no way out of
the terrible quiet, then
creaking, the rumbling down
please, no, please
I have to get back.
not down the elevator
with this man in a blonde wig
and felt hat, not his stale breath
fouling the air
the white shell and hot red edge
of his cigarette
the creaking, the rumbling down
as ashes scatter like red stars
and I not knowing
if or when I’ll ever