Mr. Hill

Mr. Jack, someone said the other day
my minds eye brought forth Everett Hill,
fragile, thin, gray, well beyond retirement age,
stayed on the job as the sweeper

there was an agreement,
when the old owner/boss retired,
he left word that Hill, as we all called him,
could stay on long as he could push a broom

it was a large city TV station
where a regular evening crew
cleaned the offices, waxed he floors
and took out the trash

when someone would get angry and cursed,
if Hill was around he’d call out
“don’t chew be bitter now, Mickie”, or whoever,
light heartedly he enlightened us

Hill was a daytime fixture
in the lobby, if it seemed interesting
or, in one of two large studios
casually dragging his long handled push broom

our work was in the studio
getting ready, working a show
then putting our things away
Hill was always around, just around

Mr. Jack is what Hill called me
he called everyone Mr. whatever their name was,
the important ones he used the last name
we the workers were Mr. First Names

for as long as he could show up
that was the deal that Hill stuck to, often reminding ,
as he does now working with the heavenly crew,
with a smile and a shake of the head,“now, don’t be bitter”