I'm looking for a janitor today.
The school unfinished,
unusable at present,
will soon be ready "right on cue".
A bungalow goes with the post.
No shortage then of candidates.
The clerk-of-works has volunteered
his porta-cabin for the interview.
We've all squeezed in: the governors,
the County representative,
a man from maintenance, a clerk.
The clerk reads out apologies.
First in: a youngish man from Kent.
He speaks of his experience:
both of the job and children too -
particularly "kids like these".
A school he knows in Kent,
he mentions it by name...
No, not employed, he helps out there -
his nephew's school, in fact.
(I know the boy, Jack Jones.)
The candidate is gaining confidence;
he's helped with woodwork lessons,
motor maintenance and groups on visits.
The recent deputy relied on him,
spoke of him in glowing colours.
The two of them became great friends.
He'd take a full part in school life
if he should get the job.
I don't let on: the deputy was me.
I learn much more about myself
before I break my vow of silence:
for instance how I recommended he
receive a gong. At last I speak: tell all.
He smiles. No word of explanation:
he withdraws his application.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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