Thirty-Five Years
Thirty-five years in a fifty year old building where I repair all.
Having that many years of changes within, each one I have saw.
I answer calls each day to fix everything, either big or very small.
Reality is and this is not vainness, they expect me never to fall.
Truth is I listen to every word that is said, though it might be tall.
Years of paying attention watching closely to every bouncing ball.
Facilities maintenance is one title that my job holds so dear.
I just call myself a maintenance man, and no job do I fear.
Victory is mine if I can repair and keep it running so clear.
Eventually though all things must be replaced some year.
Years spent in one place can take a toll on anyone’s heart and mind.
Every soul needs a change once in awhile, so peace they can find.
Another twelve years is what spirit will endure, before I unwind.
Retirement is not what I seek, for I have always worked in a grind.
Service to others is more than a job to me, my life, existence refined.
Copyright © Cecil Hickman | Year Posted 2010
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