The Elevator

He decided that his work day
Started much too early…
Or maybe he already knew that,
And just didn’t want to torture himself…


So from the parking garage,
Nearly empty,
He fiddled with his tie
To make it right,
Pulled his briefcase from the car,
And trudged to the elevator…

That would carry him up, physically,
And yet in doing so,
Take him down…
To another day of

Alone in the elevator, he paced
Through his phone,
Not out of interest,
But out of habit.

Then unexpectedly,
The elevator slowed before
Reaching his floor,
And his all-to-familiar,

At the Lobby level,
Worlds higher than the parking garage below,
His little elevator world
Came to a stop.

But even this deviation from the norm,
At this early hour,
Failed to distract him from
His mundane lifelessness.

As the elevator door opened,
He made the perfunctory shift backwards,
Away from the opening doors,
Well-practiced in elevator “etiquette.”

Mechanically, his eyes shifted upwards,
Away from his phone,
As if to complete,
The standard protocol.

Understand who is joining
Your elevator world,
But in a manner that is neither
Nor apparent.

She entered.



Clearly, she was aware of her beauty,
But carried it with an understated,

In this moment…
His entire morning

And took a definitely
Different perspective.

Normally, he would not be
Anxious, or worried,
But the woman…
Took him totally,
Off guard.

As the lift rose,
So did his pulse.

Floors passed quickly as the moment slowed.

Then, totally unexpected,
She broke the awkward silence.

“Nice suit.” She said…
Looking directly into his eyes.

Gulping, trying to maintain his

While it crumbled…

He muttered something about
“Thanks” and
He tried hard to dress nicely…
Or something,
And trivial,
And ridiculous.

And then,
The lift slowed,
And the door opened.

As she moved to leave,
She looked at him,
In the eyes.

And as this angel
Glided out of the elevator,
She paused and offered,

“Have a perfect day.”

It was all he could do to…



© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.


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