They told us the future was coming, so we stood in the queue.
We brought our children and folding chairs and grew old in the queue.
At the front, they say, there is a window, and behind it a face.
No one has seen it. Still, we tell its legend in the queue.
My neighbour was born here, near the third pillar on the left.
He learned to walk, then to argue, then to vote — in the queue.
A man with a loudspeaker announced that the line was shorter now.
We cheered. We moved one step. That was a holiday in the queue.
Someone tried to cut ahead with a letter from a cousin’s friend.
For the first time in years, we were united in the queue.
The officials go home at five; the queue does not go home.
It sleeps standing up, like a horse, and dreams of being through.
They printed new posters: PATIENCE IS PATRIOTISM.
We could not read them; the poster was too far up the queue.
When I die, write on my stone: she held her place with dignity.
And leave a token on top, so I don’t lose my turn in the queue.
