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Queue

I’ll take my cue and talk about waiting
fidgeting, fumbling grumbling
Waiting
Short
long
Round the corner
Queue.
For hours
Days
Weeks
Always
But where would we be without the queue?
keeps us in line
Keep us in order
She has taken Times test
And stood till she was 80
The skin is thin on those old bones now
She shivers
And for the first time feels
old and frail
It’s a postcard relationship
Just a snapshot really
Recognisable as the place
doesn’t really truly look like it
Wasn’t quite what was promised
Never growing to that imperfect domestic familiarity
Remaining pristine never getting beaten battered edges
Not sealed by the mundane
No deeper than a veneer
It’s an image of where you have been
A marker but little else
Do you ever truly know the person?
Can you be known ?
It doesn’t work out

So you visit somewhere new
You flick through the gift shop
And spin the postcard rack
You pick the next card to send
Lovely time, lovely weather
The perfect image that never seems quite right
And move on

— The End —