One More Floor

One, two, three, four! Clip the belt. Check the cord. One, two, three, four! There’s always one more floor. At six, I sign beside my number And pull the harness round my chest. On twelve, an analyst in socks Adjusts the height of his new desk. A gust comes up. I grip the handle. His coffee barely moves at all. He shuts the blind against the sunlight. I watch my shadow leave his wall. One, two, three, four There’s always one more floor. They tell me I should aim much higher. I’m forty floors above the street. I leave their windows clean behind me And take the shaking home with me. They buy the hours. I pay the years. On twenty-four, they talk of wellness. The slide says LEARN TO DRAW THE LINE. The head of Human Resources Looks up and meets my eyes. She lifts a hand. I wave back at her, She points a little to the right. I’ve left a streak beside her shoulder. I clean it. She goes back to the slide. One, two, three, four A little quicker than before. They tell me I should aim much higher, I’m forty floors above the street. I count the strokes while washing dishes, I hear “keep moving” in my sleep. They buy the hours. I pay the years. On forty, Finance trims the budget. By Friday, Mick has lost his place. They take his name off Monday’s roster. His windows stay. We pick up pace. At home, I stand to eat my supper, The chair is inches from my knees. There’s no one here to keep me working. Who am I still trying to please? My mother cleaned the station toilets, Then cooked for us when she got in. One night I told her she was strong. She said, Come here and sit. I worked to get us through the week. Don’t make a church of it. One, two, three, four There’ll always be another floor. You tell me I should aim much higher. I’m coming down at five today. I’ll leave one window for the morning; The light will get in anyway. You bought the hours. The evening’s mine. One, two, three