Thursday, August 6, 2020

Garvin (a poem)

I'm not a taxi cab driver in this poem
I'm a window washer
And this poem may not rhyme either
As you may have guessed

I'm hanging thirty stories above the ground
I'm washing windows
And windows
And windows
My squeegee in one hang
Rag in another
Water pail on the board below me
Just washing windows

The hours aren't bad
No long hours
No short hours
Just medium hours

I finish a window and then move on
To the next one
And then the next one
And then the next one
Until I get to the top
And then
I'll do it again next week

I don't know why this is called Garvin
Just something to call it
I guess
You can quit reading now
I'm late for an appointment

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