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Description
I test electronic mobility devices for a living.
It’s only a job,
we all need to pay the rent.
Every morning, after brushing my teeth,
I climb onto the escalator
and await my arrival at the kitchen.
My coffee machine is so used to its routine,
I don’t need to press buttons anymore.
It empties itself into a mug, and I drink.

Then, I board an airport conveyor belt
which transports me to the porch,
where a chair rail waits
to lower me to the sidewalk.
There, I wait for a taxi,
which will eventually park directly
in front of me.

When I get to work,
I ride the elevator to my boss’s thirty-second floor office.
“Lady of the elevators,”
he calls me with affection,
“How are you this morning?”
“Fine, sir,” I say, as I do every morning.
He exhales and bids me leave.

I decide that today, just for fun, I will take
the escalator.
I stand motionless on its black steps, passively observing
my descent.
One floor, two floors,
it is the world’s longest set of moving stairs.
The lobby approaches, when suddenly,
I am motionless
on a fixed staircase:
A malfunction that stops time.

I inhale, close my eyes,
and take my first steps
onto the hard sidewalk below.