Haven't we seen this already?

Yes. You have if you've been reading my blog for a while. But all the same, I give you a poem inspired by a nonfiction piece that I wrote and posted long ago.

Hello Again, St. Theobald

I wipe fingerprint traces

off what ought to be

two crystal clear sets

of glass double doors,

the entrance to the halls of knowledge

more commonly known as

the library.

Everyone smudges their hands

here, the glass the only place they

wipe off their grime, but

I wish they’d do it in the bathrooms.

His voice sounds in my mind

like thunder, or a thousand paper towel rolls

hitting tile flooring from

four stories up.

“You called? Saint Theobald

speaking, sacrosanct saint of your kind,

janitor, and here to give you aid!”

Blue jeans and a grey shirt hang

on glowing arms, head, and legs

in the air above my head,

dripping ectoplasm all over

the floor.

I wait in silence,

stand still in the presence,

watching a girl in a red coat

obliviously mush her fingertips

over the next door.

His voice grates now

like the creak of squeegees:

“You missed a spot,”

and he points a finger

at the door.

I glower.

No janitor is ever

exempted from absolute correction.

Looking down, I spray Windex

on the next door over.