For the Crew

This might be a poem too... Don't judge too much, it's just the first draft for a class.

For the Crew

We are ungraceful dancers,

with our vacuum partners

and our sure moving hands

dripping diamonds

of dishwater.

We fill up the air with

hidden praise, off key,

from our lips,

keeping beat with

the thump of moving chairs.

We serve with our towels,

laughing because we believe

that our exchanges

are somehow witty,

we eavesdrop, and

lift our noses to catch

the smell of tea.

I would not trade our

nightly dance for

a world of clean dishes,

put neatly in their places,

and I do not wish to be

anything less than

a member of this

safe place.