(28 August 1906 – 19 May 1984 / London, England)

The Lift Man

In uniform behold me stand,
The lovely lift at my command.
I press the button: Pop,
And down I go below the town;
The walls rise up as I go down
And in the basement stop.

For weeks I’ve worked a morning shift
On this old Waygood-Otis lift.
And goodness, don’t I love
To press the knob that shuts the gate
When customers are shouting ‘Wait!’
And soar to floors above.

I see them from my iron cage,
Their faces looking up in rage,
And then I call ‘First floor!
Perfume and ladies’ underwear!’
‘No sir, Up only. Use the stair.’
And up again we soar.

The second floor for kiddie goods,
And kiddie-pantz and pixie-hoods,
The third floor, restaurant:
And here the people always try
To find one going down, so I
Am not the lift they want.

On the roof-garden floor alone
I wait for ages on my own
High, high above the crowds.
O let them rage and let them ring,
For I am out of everything,
Alone among the clouds.

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