every Monday it’s wet surfaces
on knees with washing cloth
and liquid cleanser
bathrooms and kitchen
wipe down chairs and vacuum
some days the refrigerator
we don’t often say much beyond
hello
how are you
but once she said
this is no be forever Frenk
is for my children
is not what I do for all my life
I was maker of feshion clothes
feshion in Warsaw before ten year ago
I come here to live
aoh
in show my girls wear gold tiara and dress
you know
long dress with here cut so and so
walk little bit like this …..
in my heart still is designer
but here must work something for money
is not feshion but is work
I would one day like be artist again
artist yes
Frenk
where you want me put you poem pages
Frank Prem Poetry 
Here too we have people who have left their own country for various reasons and have ended up doing menial, but vital jobs, usually for rubbish money. It’s a weird world.
Your poem brings this individual clearly to life, while also presenting the situation.
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Thanks Ali. She was a marvellous woman – very unassuming, efficient etc and yet, this side of her that was entirely invisible to me. I felt very humbled by knowing her.
Cheers,
Frank
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My friend was a Russian school teacher who came to the UK to wipe backsides for peanuts. People don’t realise and assume an awful lot and treat people with disdain who they are not worthy to wipe their….
But that was delightful on top of it all.
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Yep. My folk were village peasant stock and I had a lot of familiarity with run-of-the-mill hardship and displacement, but I’d not had anything to do with professionals or artists in that situation.
Tough gig.
Cheers,
Frank
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