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.