Stairway

A stairway to the roof passes twelve floors
past twenty-four silent hallways
lined with tightly locked wooden doors

my reflection passes me in the glass
windows of the abandoned office
no one is there to accept my rent

a paper sign above the mail slot
tells me to put my check
through the little space in the door

two hours in the laundry room
provide me a basket of clean clothes
but no contact with another

they all hide behind the security
of two inches of solid wood
hoping to keep the virus at bay

silent hallway is an access
to my two-room prison
my heart beats loudly in my ears