The Key

Jim helped me to figure it out.
　

Our high school janitor,
He was built like a fireplug.
Face
showing the rugged tracks
of fifty-odd years of booze
cigarettes
and casually arrogant treatment
at the hands of
high school students,
and any others who thought themselves
better educated,
dressed, or financed.

Jim liked to chat
about his days working in the toy factory
now long gone, abandoned
Complain of his back pain,
from moving desks, mopping floors,
hauling buckets,
Or comment with vigor and pith
on the rude habits of high school students,
boys and girls alike,
in bathroom use
and the odorous contents of their lockers.

　
Jim noticed who saw him
and who didn't,

There were those who demanded,
that he open the gym right now,
refill the paper towels, this instant,
Who looked
Somewhere beyond his stocky body,
Green coveralls
And mop bucket
To more important things
　

For those
Jim would make himself visible
by the simple magic of obstruction.
Surly, brief, un apologies
"No one said I could let you in."
"Have to finish this first."
"Don't have the key to the storage room on me."

But if they saw
his fatigue and hard work,
heard
his complaints and stories,
recognized
when he was busy and
needed a moment
to finish a floor
or put away a mop bucket.
Asked, even with a please,
acknowledged
with a thank you,
Jim would have the paper products,
the smile,
the key.

　
They could be trusted
to treat people
and property
right.
And for them,
Jim would open doors.

So when my date
Brusquely placed his order,
demanding rare meat,
extra vegetables, and
speed,
From the tired
smiling waitress
without the barest courtesy

Then
Turned back to me
Face transforming into a lover's smile,
Something in my heart
slipped away.
　

How could I love such a man,
to whom some people are not visible,
for whom Jim
Would not have produced the key
and opened the door.