I keep alternating
between opening
and closing
the doors and

I wander around
picking up scraps,
traces of your
brief stay in
these rooms

coffee grounds,
packets of hot sauce,
cigarette butts,
half-used matchbooks
sit in small piles
waiting to be
tossed out

I guess it’s fine
to keep the doors
and windows open,

some fresh air will
come in and
hopefully I’ll
air you