A Poem For My Hallway

My hallway is empty
most of the day. Feet walk
through it to get from the living room
to the bathroom or the bedroom
to the kitchen. Nothing lives in it
other than a picture or two
and a lightbulb that has never been changed.
I wonder what my hallway thinks it is.
I wonder if the floorboards get excited
when they feel muddy boots come in
from outside or Christmas slippers
run across them early in the morning.
My hallway is a roundabout,
letting people smoothly reach their destination.
No one writes poems about hallways,
but they’d miss them if they were gone.