‌Lift on its way

WE LOOK DOWN

I see his shoes; he probably sees mine. I shuffle; he doesn’t. His are sharp, tight, brown, and muscular like him.

WE WAIT

‘So that’s the sort of person you are,’ I thought I thought but instead I said.

SO THAT’S THE SORT OF PERSON YOU ARE!

‘I am sorry?’ he says. ‘Your shoes,’ I say. ‘They hover.’ ‘Ok,’ he says, shuffling.

ABOVE

the few carpeted ones, the dog-eared ones, the trip hazards,

the thresholds,

the restricted ones where only the right shoes can tread, the wet ones best avoided,

the antibacterial composites, the bloody ones,

the ones where the sick retch WE WAIT

The doors gape wide and we step in together. High-intensity footfall anti-slip

I turn and look and read him: Staff, Registrar… He asks. I answer.

LEVEL 3 UG

I am here to collect my mother’s glasses and slippers. His sharp shoes hover awkwardly.

‘I am sorry?’ he says.

October 22, 2024