Jorge...

		Jorge the Church Janitor Finally Quits Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1989 No one asks where I am from, I must be from the country of janitors, I have always mopped this floor. Honduras, you are a squatter's camp outside the city of their understanding. No one can speak my name, I host the fiesta of the bathroom, stirring the toilet like a punchbowl. The Spanish music of my name is lost when the guests complain about toilet paper. What they say must be true: I am smart, but I have a bad attitude. No one knows that I quit tonight, maybe the mop will push on without me, sniffing along the floor like a crazy squid with stringy gray tentacles. They will call it Jorge. from Rebellion is the Circle of a Lover's Hands