The door behind her shuts with a loud bang,
disconnected with the force she employs.
A sinister draught eddies, unseen hands
move window louvres in a spasm of noise.
The office, drained of its usual talk,
the corridor emptied of its milling feet,
floats high above the ground. Peak traffic clots
in pinpricks of light in thin threads of streets.
From the ceiling lines of fluorescent tubes
size her up through hostile, slit cross-eyes;
the security’s left, except one small group
somewhere in the innards of the high-rise.
Is it her heels that strike too loud a noteor is it her heart that’s thudding in her throat?