Wilson leans on a stepladder
by the elevator in the lobby,
keys on a belt loop,
the air smelling strongly
of floor wax and fresh paint
Holding an umbrella
on rainy mornings
he rushes to hold the door
“Hiya doin’ now –
Watch your step
Floor is slick;”
manages fluorescent lights,
clogged toilets,
trash baskets,
sidewalk clutter
Any problems,
just give him a call
Saw him one day
in his broom closet
slapping a wet rag against
the scuffed-up wall,
dirty water dripping
in graffiti streaks
to the cement floor,
before he sharply
turned and asked:
“How may I hep you?”