It was never intended that we would see
The interior of that room:
The discarded bookshelves leaning against a wall,
The lone roll of toilet paper
Unrolled, slightly (six sheets),
Lying at a forty-five degree angle to the door.
A few paper clips, scattered,
And something shiny in the corner-- perhaps a penny.
Nothing in this space has been waiting for anyone.
But sometimes unassuming doors remain unlocked,
And we step inside,
Coughing as our feet kick up layers of dust