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.
-Anonymous
