Aloft! What strands over yonder railing hang?
This is the alley, and Mopietta dries in the sun.
Arise fair one, give wind cause to bristle and sigh.
Before utility’s ladder, drainpipe, tuckpoints,
She lends grandeur to pragmat bric-a-brac.
Forsake thy bucket, descend ladder rungs
No more swabbing warehouse floors for thee,
Ground thy handle and pivot floorboards.
Such locks are for centrifuge dance,
Not toiling to crinkled linoleums.
Such a mophead is for gazing windswept seas
Turn thine fair end cut mop head to me
And give cause for these tangled fibers to entwine.