Missing Janitor

The weight of today Drags my feet and legs like a tired mop In its retirement. Unqueezed Unclean Unburped The cardinals of my span Are short and stunted The janitor is out Perhaps permanently Whereabouts? They say he went South. The new sign reads: Only hands of our own. They come in, In a frenzy, Tattooed hands of bald eagles and bloodied Talons The breeze is short and I catch a wind. Maybe, just maybe In a joyful moment There comes a washing Over me.