Mister Frye, The Janitor Guy

Goddamn teachers, never appreciating what I do, never looking me in the eye,
and the children, just
as bad, cleaning up their mess, throwing food just to spite me, chanting, «Mister Frye, the janitor guy,
Mister Frye with the lazy eye,» and smiling, mopping, I just say, «Now children, you must never throw
your trash in the side garden,» and they do it anyway, but would they if they
knew it’s been me all along,
when they sing, «Mister Frye, the toilet doesn’t work, we can’t flush, you stupid jerk,»
years and years
I’ve stopped the water, stealing all their turds, carrying them inside my
pockets, planting them in soil,
tending my garden, growing it green and beautiful, something no one can take
from me, those shitty
fucking brats, forty fucking years, and now that tree is more than strong
enough, and will they close the
school, what will happen when they find me hanging from the bough,
will the kids sing if I can’t hear
them, «Mister Frye, dead and blue, Mister Frye, his pockets full of poo»?