I had my first encounter with beaucrarcy,
the social security offices. Beaucracy is hard to find
but not as hard as I thought it would be, the building number
lied.
The gruff line manager, the room
what I thought a prison line would look like.
Bored brown walls and a long line of people
sitting staticly staring.
****, thank god for the great Walt Whitman.

The number before mine is called, the one after
is mine, it turned out to be mine.
I sit and wait, reading my book.
I keep getting called
thinking that the thick head idiot should get up, until the gruff  guard,
yells my number some snickering, some sweet laughfter
as I yell “yo!” I swear to sweet god I had no clue.

I voyage up to the window, exectping
a slow slog through beaucratic mazes.
So sorry
all smiles, a joke about smash burger
I laugh pretending I have a clue.
My school id got the job done and I brought
everything I joke, no problems,
we laugh she says I’m cute and
that my mother did a bang up job,
if only I could get girls saying the same thing
and a parting piece of advice told laughing:
Just know whenever you are late or there is a delay
god saved you from a car crash,
I love that yet I’m rather concerned that I
have been saved from that many car crashes.