Jack and Jill went up to Lidl
To queue for toilet paper
Jack got bored and soon he snored
Jill's patience was much greater

Jill queued on and moved along
Until allowed to enter
She found a pack and on the way back
Kicked Jack with pent-up anger.

Queuing -
When I was growing
it was second nature.
Then we got out the habit -
and started congregating and lingering,
vaguely hovering til the bus arrives
and then converging
with no reference to order
or deference to aging.
Or begrudgingly taking a number
and waiting our turn
til called forward, bringing us
out of our revelry.

It's different now.
Now we get there early,
expecting a wait, a line,
spaced out like it's leprosy
that we're suffering -
Like we're resisting
being associated with the others
who are queuing.

Shuffling.

Waiting.

And once arriving,
being begrudgingly admitted
by the high-viz guy who's masking,
and he's insisting
that our partner
has to wait outside
where it's freezing.

Now queuing
is our new necessity -
our communal normality.

Maybe it'll stick
and we'll be sticklers
for a queue that's orderly.

And maybe - just maybe
we'll find that the queues move
a little
more
quickly.

here’s what i’ll do
a good british thing
i’ll queue
get to the front, lean on the counter
(chipped and worn and scratched formica)
‘One memory preservation order please’
(it always pays to be polite)
‘That’s not how it works, here’s the form’
(form i can)
thankyouthankyouthanksverymuch
many boxes to tick
many scratches to itch
complete finally, submitted with its
appropriate fee
in a few weeks, two or three
i’ll receive
an unbreakable, unviolatable
memory