The Devil's Pleasure Garden: The Cleaning Lady

The cleaning lady vacuums in my sleep.

She bangs the baseboard and elbows my door

With backward strokes until she knows for sure

That I’m awake. Her mop resounds on chair

Legs as on gongs. “I am,” her signal says,

“Here.” No longer able to persuade myself

I can ignore her, I rise and take refuge

In the bathroom, where my upside-down bottles—

Sunscreen, tooth gel, shampoo—are all now right-side-up,

The practiced signature of her erstwhile

Presence. In the kitchen I assemble breakfast

Amid her bombing pattern. Open doors

Guide a cold breeze up my robe. I shelter

In my room and write, but as if unaware

How important this poem is, she interrupts

To ask if she should peel the little labels

Off the apples. Pondering the depth

Of her sarcasm I calculate her

Hourly wage for ironing my briefs,

And endure. I cultivate the dignity

Of my ordeal. What comfort, after all,

Folded underwear at a later moment.

I remind her to iron my jeans creased

So they’ll resemble pants, one of several

Ways she’s onto me. Her missing teeth,

Complacent smile and mustache as she stands

Hosing the terrace plants, barefoot and ankle-

Deep in run-off, irritate my sense

Of possibility almost to nightmare—

A boy caught in her hands of cronish lust,

For she is older even than I am.

But now her hose shakes off a stray cascade

That slaps onto the balcony below:

The downstairs neighbor, ancient enemy,

Cries out and I become the cleaning lady’s

Smug ally. Schopenhauer was right:

The only happiness is in despair.

Marooned by her intimidating order

I play cards with the cleaning lady.

Robert MacLean is an independent filmmaker. His The Light Touch is on Amazon Prime, Tubi and Scanbox, and his 7-minute comedy is an out-loud laugh. He is also a novelist, a playwright, a blogger, a YouTuber, a film reviewer, a literary critic, and a stand-up comic poet. Born Toronto, PhD McGill, taught at Canadian universities, too cold, live Greece, Irish citizen. Committed to making movies that don't matter. No brains, but an intellectual snob.