part 4

Long-abandoned classrooms, offices,
Desks on which a century's graffiti has settled,
Endless glass doors, hints of promise,
Through which nothing was revealed
But corpse's memories.
Eventually, i opened the final door
And stepped into a corridor brightly lit
And polished endlessly by robotic hands
Till it blazed the whiteness of heaven.
There marched by a bureaucrat, an
Office worker, busy with his schemes.
He looked officious in a short-sleeve shirt,
A clipboard and tie. Going to check
Rivet five million in panel six thousand
With a grim mouth.
I spoke to him, asking for a way out.
Then, approaching along the corridor,
Came a cleaning lady. She had pink skin,
And blonde hair. Weary lipstick, but
Looked bedazzled, and bedazzling
In a white uniform, pristine, spotless,
Like an angel in my eye.
The bureaucrat stopped her, and entreated
Her to show me the way home.
She seemed annoyed, far too efficient,
Wanted to bustle past: "No time, too busy".
As if, she wants to brandish her mop
In upstairs rooms, or purse together her lips
Before the clock strikes twelve.