hold the elevator, please!

having pressed the button
for the penthouse, we groan
when you step
into the elevator, arms
   laden with bags
   with grace, hope, peace
   falling out willy-nilly, as
you brush your hand
over all the buttons
so we must stop at every floor
picking up fidgety kids,
   refugees,
   addicts,
   wobbly-kneed elders,
      and strangers
on our way
to the kingdom.

© 2018 Thom M. Shuman