ode to a window washer
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every day before the town awakes
he smears its mottled glassy surface
with his dripping survival mop
oozing with the soap that begs for clarity
the clarinet he leaves resting at home
becomes chilled with abandonment
when the wood stove coals cease breathing
he continues with the process of
deliverance from the street-people-blues
the means making musical mutations
with every pull of his rubber-edged job
from one window to the next
he schleps the armamentarium
of a non-musical morning then
goes on to the other stores washing
their windows whose eyes smile
when he leaves finally he finishes
with all the washing for a day's
laundered meal and goes home...
wraps his clarinet with the warm
blanket of his devoted breath and
to show her appreciation of his flawless
faithfulness she sings with joy
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Poem by Janet Cannon
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