Stairs often go both ways. But you
have found a flight that only goes down.
You have determined each landing
indicates its floor is a prime number,
but they are not in numerical order.
Pass the curry, pass the radish, pass
the bones of those who tarried
in an attempt to jimmy the lock on 643.
You hear growls from below, select
a few femurs in anticipation.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. He has recent or upcoming appearances in Cerasus, Discretionary Love, and Sein und Werden, among others.