The queue

Reflections in an airport window

A pointless song playing on the radio

All these people really no place to go

I count the heads and faces

All are from my past so many places

I recognize every one of them

Thought I left them behind. Last time.

What I fear most when I reach the end of the line

Is that all these dipshits will have gotten there first

And all the good ones are still in the hearse

One thought on “The queue”

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