In Camera
There is usually a queue,
So you take a number, and wait,
Pass the time of day -
There’s always something to say -
Talk about the weather; stew;
Count the cost, and hesitate ...
The line shuffles forward,
Though one appears no nearer.
Some try to push in front;
A few wonder, What’s the point?
Others linger over every word,
Yet the meaning is no clearer.
And when your time arrives,
Everything seems to fall away,
As if the you as a notion
Has always been in question;
And what of you survives
Will barely have a say.
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