In keeping with Poetry Thursday, this post will be presented as a poem, albeit a rather poor one.


The Janitor
by SJSTL

An aging man in seersucker
Sits on the train,
To Shady Grove.

His wavy graying hair and
His round, tortoise-shell glasses and
His formerly-white suede oxfords and
His visible black socks and
His crisp white shirt and
His yellow, fly-fishing tie and
His glittering cufflinks
Say "I am tired."

And yet
Between his legs is,
Of all things,
A vacuum.
A 12-amp, Dirt Devil vacuum cleaner
In light blue.

Why it is there,
I cannot comprehend.

Is he stealing from his office? Or
Selling it on Craigslist? Or
Cleaning up a crime scene? Or
Did he get it from a colleague? Or
Did he find it on the street? Or
Did he clean his office at his wife's request? Or
None of the above?

He leaves
At Dupont Circle
With his vacuum
His old, mysterious vacuum
Pushed off the train
A step ahead of him.

Is he the Janitor?
The one who plans to clean up
The mess that clogs our gutters
and our souls?