A man joined me on the elevator.
He pressed no button, but rode along.
When I got off, I said, "See you later."
The doors closed and reopened with a "bong."
I turned to see if the elevator's chiding
would wake the man from his phone-fueled languor.
And put him on the path of proper riding.
Or whether it'd take a more persistent clangor.
The elevator gave up, shut, and ascended
To this day, I can not help but wonder
whether the man's reverie ever ended,
or whether the phone's spell he's still under.
And does he still spend his days in futile elevating?
Society Magazine
