Please, God, Give Me Patience

Every time you line up at the counter in an orderly queue
You are always bound to come up against these typical few

The big-bellied, belching man whose paunch is big enough for two
He’ll let out sneaky, smelly farts and look around, pretending it was you

The nose-in-the-air bottle-blonde bimbette who is blasΓ© in cutting the line
Without a by-your-leave, ‘coz she thinks only we minions have the time

The mother with the cranky, cantankerous kid she can’t control
You get so damn irritated that you let her ahead towards the common goal

Then you’ll have a sloppy teenager with earphones, Snapchatting and in a daze
Standing as if in a trance, that makes you want to slap him across his face

A doddering senior citizen with a cane and small plastic basket
Whom you pity and let through before it’s their time to be laid out in a casket

The extra-smart type who’ll very shiftily try to get ahead
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you!” and you reply sarcastically, “Yeah, sure, Fred!”

The guy with a mean-tempered, snarling dog who’s drooling spittle
That’s his ticket to the head of the line, we others mean little

The politically connected, gold-heavy bully, who thinks it is his birthright
To jump the queue; him & his cronies, it’s probably wise not to fight

Of course there will be more than one smartphone junkie
Texting, tweeting, pouting, taking selfie after duck-face selfie

The intrusive woman you want to ignore, who persists in making conversation
Asking personal questions, voicing her opinion that everything’s an abomination

And then there are the ones who insist on standing a foot too close
Brushing against you so you can smell the acrid sweat on their clothes

Finally when it’s your turn, the window shuts – and I swear this is invariably true
It’s lunch time and you know how bureaucrats work, what else can you do

Stand in place an hour or more, or go right to the back
And come across the very same folks who in manners quite lack

 

 

 

 

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