Hard Work

A poem beginning in the same way as Gilbert’s ‘A policeman’s lot is not a happy one’ but with some other worker replacing the policeman

A liftman’s lot is not a happy one:

To be trapped inside a box

Smelling other people’s socks

From dawn to dusk is not exactly fun.

It’s a frantic, up-and-down job in the main:

One moment elevation

To a high, exalted station

Then a drop towards rock bottom once again.

The liftman must, at all times, know his place

And announce the different floors –

‘Level seven, mind the doors!

Going up (or down),’ as best befits the case.

And when, at last, the liftman’s day is done,

Will anyone at all

Rue the rapid rise and fall

Of the man whose lot was not a happy one?