New job and tired, She still worked hard Mopping concrete floors After dusting, dumping the trash And cleaning toilet bowls. With the factory sooty and dark The flourescents showered Their three a.m. peace On the muted clash Of her primrosed skirt with the mortared halls. The quiet night Brooded the sulk Of silent drill presses and grease spotted floors. She moved her mop, Wrung it out, moved it again. She floated against its force Bright whisper in the hulk Of sleeping industry, moved her mop Wrung it out too early to stop, Wrung it out, wrung it out, hung it out, Rested a second, She moved her mop, Wrung it out, moved it again.