Stairwell - May 12 2026

 

Stairwell

May 15 2026



I make a point of climbing stairs.

Wherever

and however treacherous;

uneven risers,

trip-wire edges,

slippery treads and all.

The stairwells are like afterthoughts

architects can’t be bothered with;

cold, and dimly lit

with cinder-block walls

and cheap plastic bannisters

sticky as a toddler’s hands

but I’m sure with something worse.

Landings

  —  where drug deals are done

and tipsy drunks

slump against the wall  —

are littered with butts

and have a sour smell;

a toxic mix

of piss

human sweat 

and cigarettes,

sitting heavily 

in the stagnant air

my motion has grudgingly stirred.

But I persist,

because elevators are decadent

and exercise is virtuous.

So I race up the stairs

footsteps echoing

off the hard glossy walls,

pivot around the landings

like an antsy monkey

swinging branch-to-branch,

then heave open the fire-door

and arrive at my floor

grinning triumphantly. 

And finally, stand by the elevator

waiting for my friends

while trying to look unrushed;

wiping the sweat from my brow,

running a hand through my hair,

and wind-milling my arms

to air myself out.

First 

in a race

where no one else is keeping score,

or even knows

they took part.