As we flickered up the storeys
the child reflected everywhere
in the mirrors of the elevator
had to know the reason
there was no thirteenth storey.
Her father said as little
as was possible in public,
a reticence the bellhop
beamed at like a secret,
but I, likewise reflected,
could have told her with my five mouths
about a ride in Florida
that drops you like a bungee,
plummets you in total dark!
guess how many storeys.
And thereby meets demand
for that. I would have told her,
had I not got out before them,
still in the lower twenties,
I have a serious answer
if you’re seriously asking.
—Glyn Maxwell
