Today’s poem

Is this the queue for the barber’s? The one opposite the gym? Forgive me, I was just wondering. I’m desperate for a trim.

Oh, hang on a minute, they closed them, Too intimate, no doubt. I’ll look like Robinson Crusoe Before the year is out.

The butcher’s or maybe dry cleaner’s? It’s very hard to tell. The way it snakes into the distance So this could be a lengthy spell.

If it’s the queue for the ATM I’d best withdraw a bit. I never got the hang of that internet And cash is still king, isn’t it?

I have it on good authority That during the last world war If you saw a queue you joined it, Whatever it was for.

It might be something useful, You never really knew. The only way to be certain Was to wait at the back of the queue.

Half a league, half a league, And two metres onwards, The spacing is immaculate Though we number several hundred.

No one queues like us lot, It must be in the blood. I bet we crawled in single file From the primordial mud.

Wait, I think I’ve got it. This must be for the baker’s. They do a lovely bloomer there. It’s next to the undertaker’s…

G. Bell, Botley, Hants.