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?