You won't see me on the
crisp autumn mornings or
the evenings, the sky filled with
smoke from the paper company's smokestacks

I am not a pedestrian
I am a civil servant
I am the voice of the wrong people who worship dismantled Gods

I am not a janitor
But I will clean up the mess you've made
My commitment may stand; I may be a low-life for the rest of it
but initially my heart, about to burst, was in the right place
Originally, I did this for the right reasons

I am not a flight attendant
Those who operate the vessel will soon find that I've left
Unfortunately they will find me hard to replace
But, I think, that's how this **** goes, sometimes at least