Monday, 3 April 2017

The waiting room

What is there to hate?
For all the time we had to wait,
It’s not like we were late,
For what wasn’t really a date,
A walk-in centre at any rate,
Yet over four hours at the gate,
Flustered and ready to berate,
One man’s anger I had to deflate,
For he was beginning to grate,
Without a cue or a queue to abate,
And though I was not feeling great,
We all chose to relate,
Then I was three down from eight,
Before I knew my fate.


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