May I Have Your Tickets, Please?

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We don’t know how wrong life can be
Till summoned to the DMV
To be served incompetently —
Workers who cannot agree

From one damn counter to the next
On any tiniest pretext
I get increasingly perplexed
Oh, someone rescue me

From chairs of plastic in a grade
As hard as any ever made
In which I have for hours stayed
Uncomfortably flexed

With people to the right and left
Similarly of hope bereft
That we’ll still have a penny left
After we have paid

The taxes, fees and penalties
Assessments for amenities
To gods of government appease
(It all amounts to theft)

But if I do a powder take
Know it would be a big mistake
I’d better the decision make
To stay and do it right!

Among us, poets are not paid. The poet/editor of this website, being physically disabled, lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. Become a patron of the fine arts at:

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Ana Daksina

About the Author: Ana Daksina

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