Eldritch Janitor

I dreamed unquietly of Lou –  just some

old guy I remembered from school, always

alone and pacing the halls, waiting waiting

waiting for us small ones to depart so

he could in the dusk do as he needed.

Except in the dream he had already begun –

in spite of the window-slanted noon sun

failing to warm me, failing to light the

fleeing corners of the cavernous linoleum throat

in which only Lou and I remained, he standing

much taller than reality and yet hunched over,

from need,

for he had no mop – just far too many soggy

beard fingers sloshing water from his

semblance of a mouth as he scoured the plane

to a shiny empty with his face.  When he looked

at me, I could plainly see the drowned dust balls

caught on him, and their miniscule mountains,

coastlines . . .

Long after waking I can still smell

his dank salt-water breath.

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