Maintenance Scholar

Maintenance Scholar

 

Five minutes ‘til eleven, maintenance man

leans against a metal doorframe,

his trigonometry textbooks clasped in calloused hands.

Our eyes meet as I scramble up the stairs.

 

His lips lift slightly at the corners. Shy in his blue

coveralls, he clutches his books tighter.

Blue-collar grime dirties his nametag.

Hard working, tough, and I compare him to

leather, black, un-buffed and unfinished.

 

The door closes behind me,

as the rap of my suede boots

are muffled by the carpeted classroom.

Author's Note

A short poem written after an observation