Boarding Now, by chris miller

I try to keep to myself
with the squish, squeak, click
of the squeegee -- a clanky lullaby
for a weekend window washer.

The tawny young lady finds me, nonetheless,
pearly smile and slender form;
her eyes light up with recognition (she had been
looking for me apparently),

and for a moment I feel desired,

and I savor it, until

she hands me a small piece of paper,
a movie ticket
-- with the phrase, “one free admission into heaven,”
boasting a Bible verse
and touting the Great Kingdom
like a Sunday matinee,
replete with greasy popcorn
and sticky floors.

A nail-biting melodrama
with giant whales, floods, beasts with multiple heads,
and a love story to end all movies of the week.

Instead, the film likely
features myself, a B-movie actor
in life’s grainy portrayal,
immersed in a situation
where nothing exciting happens,
like one of those European flicks.

She actually saved me, in her mind,
as she moved along to the next soul to heal.
If only she knew how far from redemption I lie,
the dirty truth;
if only she could realize her optimistic black and white
is a paper ship
awash in the deluge of a million hues.

Then I’d supplicate at her feet, but
in the meantime I guess I’ll meditate
on the squish, squeak, click
of the squeegee,
and save those dirty windows
from sin.