A Cleaner’s view

May 18

By Daisy Pascoe

I sit, and happily observe the chaotic life that is a fixture of every day,
The seasons change before me, through large glass windows,
The view of the outside world morphing as I look,
The sun cascades into the window, illuminating the maroon carpets lining the lobby,
The height of summer brings an enclave of people, rushing forward in crowds of bliss,
Their high pitched excitement audible from behind the glass and evident from their smiling faces,
They watch me dust tables and chairs, as they walk by, the smell of polish filling me up,
And then as the months fade and the season air cools, I see the leaves fall,
The crunch of fading summer, blooms into an orange warmth, lining the pavement,
Winter brings frost and snow, dripping condensation onto floor-length windows, all the opalescent beads carefully wiped away,
I may be a cleaner, and to some that means nothing,
Invisible to those who pass me by everyday unknowingly, through car windows or bus stop shelters,
But I have the chance to observe all the beautiful intricacies of human life,
The old man feeding pigeons sitting on his bench,
The woman skipping along, walking her small dog,
The schoolboys running triumphantly out of gates, their uniforms torn and muddy,
This is my colourful portrait of the bustling, electric city below, and all that inhabits it,
This is a cleaners view.