The Janitor lurks with his sunken eyes,

Champion in arts of deceit and disguise.

Privy to secrets, prudent in cleaning,

He leaves both his face and the floor gleaming.

He knows ways of the Cosa Nostra crowd,

No mere intern can hope to bring him down.

He has his informants on every floor

While he mops up this Corsican corridor.

And should you try and decipher his eyes,

You’ll meet a 9mm surprise.

The few who know him, all approach with care;

To others, he’s just standard maintenance fare.

And though he resides on the backstage boat,

Oft he would push the electoral vote.

He owns a grey jumpsuit adorned with stains,

But can still make the worker kneel in pain.

With a glance and glint from his shifty eyes,

‘Round the world soon can be heard layoff cries.

It is he who molds the company code—

How he has access? Not even the Boss knows…