A Doorman Speaks: And now for something completely different.

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Doorman Poetry Slam

I am a Doorman.

My appearance is key for all to see, greeting everyone who enters or exits my building with a sense of style and a joyous jolt of hospitality, because I am a doorman.

As I stand at my post, there’s a feeling of respectability, for anyone that visits, or does work in an apartment, whatever the case may be, you see...

Once they enter they have to stop at my desk, firstly see and speak to me.

I deal with all kinds of individuals, from the business types, teachers, doctors and lawyers, blue collar workers, nannies and even the big ballers, and shot callers.

I’m that Doorman.

I deal with individuals who are calculated, articulated, and educated, the ones who are orchestrated and top rated, from people that are well liked down to some who are just plain hated.

I’m that Doorman.

Sometimes looking out the window, through sunny times and snow, rain or when the wind blows, I imagine myself with top dollars, maybe even a scholar, well groomed and dressed always walking around with popped collars.

I imagine myself living in the lap of luxury, in a mansion, or a duplex sipping fine wines,
or maybe I can live on a penthouse floor of a doorman building with an ill view of the Manhattan skyline.

I am a Doorman.

I get to see some pricey cars from Bentley’s, Range Rovers, and Mercedes Benz’, you got the Jaguars, and Audi’s, and Lexus RX 360, two thousand and ten’s.

Back to reality!

I find myself in the middle of the street with arm raised helplessly trying to flag down a taxi for a resident who thanks me,

But really don’t thank me.

You sometimes have to understand the mentality.

Hell, if I had help 24/7 maybe I would have a chip on my shoulder, always asking and pestering,
bothering and needing, bobbing and weaving, conceding the fact that exact posturing and pleading, will get me what I want no problem, no hassle, and no ills,

It's a damn shame that some people are quick to point out that they pay my bills,
ever reminding me that I am their Doorman.

Now don’t get me wrong, because for the handful of agitators, there are those who are known as appreciators, they’re quite polite and caring, always giving and always sharing.

There are those that constantly walk passed the door, ask the doorman if he wants or needs something from the store.

And just like they ask they bring, no songs to sing about I did for you so what can you do for me, or her, or them or him?

There’s no reading between the lines, there’s no brokering a deal, I have some cats coming down on Thanksgiving Day bringing me a meal, and for that I’m grateful..

But being a doorman is not as easy as it sounds.

I have to deal on the regular seeing people like I said that are genuine, others that are asinine.

I say hello to smiling faces, people that are in high places, the quiet guys, the ones who lie, you have the backstabbers, and children that cry, you have the ones who constantly make complaints, others that are patient as long as you try.

I’m surrounded by all kinds of people that bring about all kinds of emotions and situations, they rely on me to have the answers, and sometimes I don’t.

I’m just a Doorman.

Yet this doorman is always going to be there to help those that stumble, perhaps tipsy from some substance that’s making them mumble, and fumble.

I’m a friend, someone to talk to, a doctor, and confidant, the sports analyst and weatherman, the been working for so many years as a doorman veteran, the better man, the lending hand, the man in the lobby once dealing contraband, the go-to man, the post up at the door and take a stand, I’m a bretheren....

To the Jamaican that delivers the mail.

I am a Doorman.

With pent up anger have I grasped a door several times and opened it, only because there was someone waiting there for me to open it.
There are times when I bend backwards, going all out, I dip and I flip doing this and that, hand out, waiting for a tip....

And nothing.

But that’s okay because I’m still grateful, and being grateful will overcome futility. I can still hold my head up walk with pride and humility.

This doorman is a caged tiger, a ring fighter, a Hispanic powered, hold nothing back, type on the keyboard, or pen in my hand, great writer.

And for now, I’ll continue to open those doors, for anyone and everyone that’s entering or leaving.

My title is Doorman but I’ll never stop believing, that I can achieve goals in life without being slightly flighty, I don’t use no race card and yap crap about working for whitey...

I’m the mighty!

In my very own world until the day that I’m known, until that time comes I’ll continue to own,that title of doorman.. I open and close....

I am a Doorman! I am a Doorman!

 


See all  A Doorman Speaks.

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