Garvin (a poem)

I'm not a taxi cab driver in this poem

I'm a window washer

And this poem may not rhyme either

As you may have guessed

I'm hanging thirty stories above the ground

I'm washing windows

And windows

And windows

My squeegee in one hang

Rag in another

Water pail on the board below me

Just washing windows

The hours aren't bad

No long hours

No short hours

Just medium hours

I finish a window and then move on

To the next one

And then the next one

And then the next one

Until I get to the top

And then

I'll do it again next week

I don't know why this is called Garvin

Just something to call it

I guess

You can quit reading now

I'm late for an appointment