Government Run

A line of folded papers winds around the counter corner
Like a snake painted by Picasso that was hurriedly made to order.
The line grows longer every time a new victim appears,
Drops his papers, finds a seat, and waits to pay arrears.
The new ones can tell from disgruntled faces The Man hasn’t yet arrived.
They hope it won’t be long now, but aren’t prepared to be surprised.
Eventually there are no more seats and the new arrivals stand
And crowd around in corners, speaking softly, and discreetly
Looking over their shoulders every so often just to see the
Papers they brought have not been moved by other’s impatient hands.
Time drags on as though it were burdened by heavy weight.
The payers sit and stand and walk and talk and think and wait.

At the other end of the office, a large mass of people cluster
Around a service window at the counter in the corner. 
The Other Man behind the glass tries occasionally to muster
Up the strength to yell for them to keep themselves in order.
But his pleas only fall upon deaf ears; these people are accustomed
To situations where strong survive and weak given no quarter.
Aggressive newcomers come in and slide along the western wall,
Or else they circle round outside to get ahead of all;
They take advantage of interstices left by those departing.
The timid are stranded in the middle, surrounded by obnoxious
Folk who won’t push to close the gaps the sly ones fill so smartly. 
The elbows, glares, and arguments are inherent to the process.

Beside the throng is another window, the front of which is empty
Save two men in leather shoes with white papers aplenty.
The Woman behind the glass is busy typing on her screen.
She sometimes looks at papers and asks the men to sign here please.
When the last contract is printed, and all the signatures are written,
She alights from her chair and heads to the back of the office for a rest,
To have a snack from the private kitchen, or call the man with whom she’s smitten,
And generally not work or worry about the office guests.

Meanwhile, the owners of folded white papers are sitting, getting restless.
“Don’t they want our money?”  “They really must detest us!”
“The Other Man told me nine o’clock, its fifteen to ten right now!”
“I have to deal with this every time I step foot in this place.”
Facial sweat is sponged away as a shirt sleeve wipes a brow.
The women wave their hands to cool the air around their face.
They talk amongst themselves, but to whom could they complain?
This is no private business, no, the government runs this game.
The only game in town, in fact, this electric monopoly.
I’d switch providers but lack of choice is what is stopping me.
So I sit and wait, like all the rest, to pay my portion due.
Hoping that The Man will come and I’ll quickly be through.
So listen with care and heed my words, for I’ve been there and done it:
If you want it to work as it properly should, don’t let the government run it.