Floors And Toilets

I'm way beyond my comfort zone,
The moment I walk from my home
Into this guy's establishment;
It matters not just what was meant –

For I'm not bonded – un-insured,
Untrained, unqualified I'm sure;
It scares be-Jesus out of me
To work his shifts, relief to be.

And so I ask, what can I do
To lift this burden, be no fool –
Be bonded? and insured ’fore start?
Be cautious? safe when after dark?

So here I am like kids ’round here,
Who have to work despite their fear;
Risks we will take thus vary much,
Till we come close to the edge – enough!

It is a nasty world out there;
Gut feelings help when we compare
With past the present risk we take,
As we at work participate.

This town survives twixt black and white;
It loves the dusk and dawning light,
When shadows hide their corners shaved,
As people hide how they've behaved.

“Dispensed with little things”, they say;
“It's how you eke your living wage”;
A town of skirters, shysters, ghosts,
Whose labour fattens Givers most.

Few hours – it flooded back once more
Those double sets of books, that door
Forever just ajar, for all
To venture through and take the fall.

“Some corporate-conscience role you take?”
He pressed with arrogance and hate;
“Think you are better than us folk,
All earnestness beneath your jokes?

“Step down, get off that pedestal;
Just do your task and do it well;
Leave politics aside, for us –
Just do your job and make no fuss.”

How vividly those words come back
I was so young – no courage lacked –
And then I took the hit through them –
“You're gone” – at Christmas – quick A-men.

Here workers are as good as they
Shut up, do work, collect small pay.
The spirit of this town I hate;
Its bondage “trapped in life” creates.

For thirty years I've mopped this floor,
And eased the broken through the door;
Brought comfort, hope, helped folks move on
Midst broken sewage pipes, ’fore dawn.

“Here's fifteen grand to shut your trap;
Turn in your keys and don't come back”–
Hush money not to tell the things
They did ’round there to income bring.

Lord, cleaning toilets is the start
Of every Ministry with heart;
I did it once for ministry
Within the Church, then ‘overseas’.

So now as I head out the door
To working world – start up once more –
With no exceptions, status, claims
Just living life in others’ lanes –

I'm nervous – why? What's bigger pix?
For I'm not there, their world to fix;
But watch and see, be on alert
For what I need to learn at work.

Some things can only thus be learned
At bottom, status, power, spurned.
Okay, out here in Giver-land
Your Grace – that I might under-stand.

For that is why I'm here, O Lord –
That I might best present Your Word;
Help out as I have been helped out;
For this is what it's all about.

In doing this, there's no escape
For poverty and risk relate;
No safety claim as now I roam
Immersed in world that's not my home.

Lord, Psalms it was that carried me,
While working here in eighty-three;
Such slime and offal on that floor –
Pre-grieving, I return once more.

Your Adversary's name I know;
Your scattered seed I see you sow;
Okay, “Lay on, McDuff” I say,
For Christ through me will have His way.

Last time I was out on my own,
Commuting weekly from my home;
(Your Works of Power foreign were,
Their comfort and protection sure).

Now I go out without my skill
Of agile mind, and forthright will;
It scares the hell right out of me –
And from the world, which now I see.

This should be fun – I popcorn take
Front row, as I participate;
Do ‘this and that’ as you direct;
Then afterwards blown-wall inspect.

For here's where rubber hits the road,
As I reach out to ease his load;
It scares me half to death all right –
As he walks through his dark tonight.

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