In Step

Used to work with

My father in his

Small janitorial service

 

And I’d mop the

Floor using long

Strokes, gliding side

To side as my mind

Slipped and slid into

A glide of its own

 

And I’d get the

Floor nice and clean

And someone would stop

All over it before it dried

 

Somehow it

Pissed me off

 

But somehow it

Seemed in step

With things

 

And life

Was a floor

Of

 

Stepped on thoughts

Stepped on memories

Stepped on backs

Stepped on tongues

Stepped on music

Stepped on solitude

Stepped on sky

 

And of course,

The guy who stepped

In front of that beautiful

Woman, blocking your view

 

And I can hear my

Father’s voice as I mop

The sky with this poem

 

Hey, Step on it!

 

 

© 2016 Tony Robles

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