As corporate cogs go home for the day
Offices empty, regaining their still.
Serene and reflective, sweeping away
Janitor’s magic unfolds, if you will.
His footfalls echo as the dusk falls fast,
Away from the noise, he’s working the night.
Crucial starry role in a one man cast
Sheds sparkle and shine by the morning light.
Wonder if he hums a familiar tune,
Grooving around comfy company chairs,
Close companions - the kettle and the moon -
True confidantes of his midnight affairs.
Though one man cast stays behind the curtain,
His spic and span act shows clean and certain.
Did you know
At the community hall
The janitor cleans
For no pay at all
Quietly cleaning
Day and night
Crumbs and wrappers
In his sight
He never complains
He just gets on
Busily cleaning
Til all is gone
Modestly staying
Out of view
He seeks no praise
From me or you
Even leaving behind
Gifts for us all
Droppings aplenty
From the rat at the hall
CHEERS FOR THE JANITOR
I suppose I may be found in cluttered closets
Or in empty rooms after hours I’m prowling
Cleaning up so many unmentionable deposits
That’s partly why they say I’m often scowling
My job is neither management nor education
Just all the manual tasks that others do reject
It’s hardly reflected in my low remuneration
So my grumpiness is not that hard to detect
But truly and in secret, I become superman
I have higher degrees coming out of my ears
A champion in jumping over a lengthy span
But I prefer modesty to all the empty cheers
Now, with no more talents nor skills to hone
I am serene and reflective, satisfied and alone
He's a hard worker,
Charged, Oh! Heavenly laden,
Of stick and broom.
When the owls are out of town
his studded boots kick-up featherless hoots.
He is the creak and groan of tired wood,
The splutter of an old aircon
yet more;
all inexplicable noises belong to him.
He crawls through crawl spaces to prop up places.
A chunky phantom who tinkers with gurgling drains.
He's the one who unplugs the unpluggable,
then trips the fuse box at night while you pee.
I hear him stumble bent between rafters,
imagine his bum crack mooning cobwebs and shadows.
He wheezes through long unheeded chores.
A maintenance ghost
grumbling as he bends over a beer belly,
that unseen plumber who rattles shaky pipes,
working hard on his night shift,
He's a clatter in the crapper,
patching up leaks between colliding worlds,
nudging our sleep as we cover ears
in our fretful dreams.
When the owls are out of town
his studded boots
kick-up featherless hoots
from struts, studs and props.
He is the creak and groan of tired wood,
the cough and splutter of the A/C.
yet he is more;
all inexplicable noises belong to him.
He owns each nook and cranny
rents out crawls-spaces
to those that crawl.
I hear him stumble
bent between the rafters
of starless nights,
hear him wheeze through
long unheeded chores.
A maintenance ghost
tweaking blue-collar moons
grumbling as he bends over a beer belly
testing pipes
while dropping well-used tools.
He is that unseen plumber
who rattles arcane engineering
still working his shift,
a tinker of loose screws and
shaky valves.
He's night noise hard at work
plugging leaks
between colliding worlds.
In our congress there's a sleeper cell.
They'll not cherish our moment of silence
for the three thousand souls that fell~
They despise the colors of our flag...
the blood that was sacrificed for their right
to talk smack and wear those fancy rags~
They've no respect for our history
they plot and scheme to overtake.
They'll use our freedoms against us
our very way of living is at stake ~
In the bright blue skies of September
is when the third world war commenced.
it's time to unfurl the eagle's talon
then let God clean up the mess~
The dead roach with its upended crinkly legs
has been lying in the windowsill for at least four weeks.
I would get rid of it, except...
nothing has amused me for years half as much
as people's horrified reactions when they notice her.
This poor ugly black dead thing.
I have decided to have a tiny plaque made, and a little glass coffin.
I will put her into the coffin, and glue my "snow white" plaque on the side,
ever so sweetly.
I will caution the taxidermist to make sure the legs remain up, as it is the cutest thing.
I will then pay him to stuff and stand seven little dead flies or ants.
His choice.
I will put little hats and vests on them and label them too.
Grumpy will really look grumpy.
This will bring the dead roach to a whole new level.
It might even embarrass the custodian,
but as she clearly has not noticed this dead roach in four or five weeks,
perhaps not.
What a stockbroker did to a man was humiliating and demeaning.
He constantly laughed at a man because his job involved cleaning.
The stockbroker thought he was better than this man because he was a janitor.
One day he had taken enough of his crap and he knocked the stockbroker to the floor.
Sadly, the janitor was fired for being unruly.
A man lost his job for standing up to a bully.
The Janitor
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
He takes the wipe and aims
At the drip of urine
He looks and concentrates
With deep ambition to
Wipe it clean and dry.
He marches proudly up and down
And flushes clean what's left behind
He walks here and there
And wipes whenever he can
He keeps it clean.
His face is brutal humble
He does not grumble
It is no trouble
To clean a fumble.
His shoes is shining black
He is tidy neat
Tonight he will
Put food on the table.
And give thanks.
Thank you
Janitor
No one ever says.
Joe the janitor,
was working at area 51,
as usual till
there was no more sun,
when suddenly the power went out,
got a flashlight from his janitor cart,
and quickly finished mopping the floor...
Noticing the now unlocked
highly classified door,
knew he shouldn't go in,
but his curiosity did win,
and saw a martian laying there,
when a fly buzzed right past him,
and Joe brought some
canned bug spray in,
where he chased and sprayed
till the fly was no more...
Then the martian opened his
bulging fly like eyes,
and to Joe's surprise,
quickly fled out the door,
where he got in a waiting UFO...
The very next day,
the president came on the air
to say,
"We are now at war with martians,
thanks to a janitor,
who ignited anger,
by spraying one yesterday
with Black Flag bug spray!"
not down by the schoolyard
but trapped in janitor attire
shiny specks revealed beneath
his dust
he OWNS it!
and controls
sweeping motions and
one more arm circle,
still not tired.
But cells shift into what
Kandinsky couldn't describe
in ever so many words
and so many COLORS.
Puff of breath reaches one arm out
once more
lurking around minute strength
from growing thin moon.
HIS boots are waning over dust
heavy with monotony
HE is reflected by bad photographs
the children he cleans up after
call art
and don't call themselves children
but adults
even though real experience
is doing what he's doing
through age
and choice
thinking what they've thought.