Staff Only Door Poem by James Dylan

Standing on the footpath
Waiting like every other day
For the bus to arrive
I’m early as usual
And the same faces I see
Nothing new to admire
Then I peer through the window
Of the foreign restaurant

I tilt my head, slightly upwards
So that my eyes can see
Over the Script
Painted on the window
Belonging to a foreign tongue
Nothing grabs my attention
Then I see her walk
Through the staff only door
A sight I never saw
Through this window before

A mop in hand
She walks towards the entrance
A door hungry customers like to enter
A door
She likes to exit

This is as close as she will be to me
She has no care for who is on the outside
Her only worry is the immediate task
To wipe clean the dirty shop floor

She bends her head down
As she moves the mop
To clean all the spots
A frustrated face
Angry with the customers for dirtying it
Angry with herself
And her job
Her head stays down
Focused on the object
She has to work with

I focus through the window
Up, down, mmm, all around
My focus is only her
The gorgeous black hair
The brown, glowing skin
The tight, low cut blouse
Short sleeves reveal her arms
Yet it is the slightly revealing
Cut of the blouse
Showing her exquisitely sized breasts
That entices me so

Her jeans, tight to the skin
Flattering her legs and bottom
Comfortable shoes for her to move in
The last piece of the puzzle
Shoes more practical than attractive
Yet allowing her to glide backwards
Her small backward movements
A more graceful sight to see
Than Michaels moonwalk
That thrilled many
Her glide perhaps
Only I can appreciate

I ponder over being those dirty tiles
Her a clean mop
Rubbing me
Moving on me
I continue to stare at her every movement
And then
I see my bus arrive
At that moment
Her job is done
The floor is clean
She moves her way back
Through the staff only door