the green tiled hallway

there was a certain shine
he was after
on the green linoleum tiles
in the long hallway
that led to the pool.
he'd lean his head to the side,
take off his cap
and say, look, see that,
there's a dull spot
down there. it needs
a splash of more wax,
then i'll buff it down.
every day, every week
for years,
his hands on the machine
as it vibrated smoothly from
side to side, the shifting
of his weight easing it
along. sometimes he'd
sing, sometimes he'd
smoke, cupping the ashes
in his dark hand.
he almost seemed happy
at times, it was strange
to hear that he had died.