The Queue
.
She’d been on the Queen Mary,
she told the check-out girl.
she told the check-out girl.
She’d given up smoking, they could see
she still pursed her lips,
she still pursed her lips,
snake hand poised,
for the camera.
And she’d been a welder in the war,
she showed the burn on her arm.
she showed the burn on her arm.
He was away, months on end,
the Arctic convoys, you know.
the Arctic convoys, you know.
Done with nodding and smiling,
or simply looking away,
or simply looking away,
the tail twitched and quivered
till she paid, and left her scent.
till she paid, and left her scent.
.
© Nemo 2023
Views: 1404
We have all been there, Gerald. We know that we have joined the wrong queue when we realised that the dear old lady at the front, having met a smiling and friendly face, feels obliged to tell the cashier her life story, unaware that she is delaying the other shoppers. I have seen a similar behaviour at the Post Office on pension day.
Well observed and neatly recorded.
Thank you, Luigi. Part of this is based on my dear mother-in-law.
Regards,
Gerald.
A touching poem Gerald, I read this the other way, with a focus on the cashier and the intolerant queue that couldn’t be bothered to spend any time engaging with the old lady, when that might be the only contact she has with anyone that day. Best Keith
Thanks, Keith. As I said to Luigi, I based this on some things that my mother-in-law used to say. Perhaps I’d better not show it to my wife,
Regards, Gerald
I appreciate you taking the time to comment on this humble effort, Trevor. Great sources of inspiration and irritation are queues.
Gerald