hidden people

 

The man at the end of the mop doesn’t speak

She sits at her desk whilst he mops round her feet

In overalls blue and expressionless face

He arrives every day and he cleans in her space

He may be quite shy or engrossed in his task

She knows not his name and is too scared to ask

An ordinary man with an ordinary role

The years as a cleaner have taken their toll

If only she’d dare to say something, a word

Would he quickly respond or pretend he’d not heard

He looks round the room, no eye contact made

She can’t help but notice his duster is frayed

Tomorrow she’ll talk to him, bring out the man

Who’s bee hiding for years behind his dust pan

But what will she say and how will he react

Will he be all embarrassed or matter of fact

His life seems so dull he could be depressed

Although he’s quite calm and he doesn’t seem stressed

On Monday she’ll ask how his weekend has been

Surely he does something else than just clean

When Monday arrives as he empties her bin

So softly her voice when she asks after him

Do anything nice at the weekend she said

Went clubbing he smiled got right off me head

I started at four and then after the pub

Had a whale of a time down at the fetish club.

 

-Joanna Hextell

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