Gateshead Frank

Verse 1
Bus station concrete stained with gum
and last night’s lager spills
I push the mop at 4 AM
water grey with the day’s grime
smell of diesel and cheap bleach
same routine since the depot cut the night shifts
Verse 2
Drivers nod, don’t see me
their radios crackle destinations
I wipe the seats, pick up the tabs
lotto tickets, crisp packets, lies
the station teaches invisibility
before it teaches cold
Verse 3
Rain soaks through my worn shoes
I wring the mop, start again
puddles tally hours
body aching with the chill
the fluorescent buzz matches
the tinnitus in my left ear
Verse 4
First bus of the day arrives
driver yawns, checks his watch
I step aside, let the early workers on
their faces still soft with sleep
the mop slides over yesterday’s tracks
erasing nothing, moving on
Verse 5
Dawn leaks through the plastic roof
turns the puddles petrol-rainbow
I lean on the mop, catch my breath
seeing my reflection in the dirty water
cleaning someone else’s mess
leaves your own untouched
Verse 6
The cleaner cleans the dawn
Gateshead’s transit heart my domain
mop my clock, the floor my map
in the station’s endless chain
the water never runs clear.