Take a Number

My neck cranes past the long queue

The discomfort is bearable, or so I tell myself

 

For a second, I am in doubt

Surely, there must be some mistake – must I really take a number?

My neighbors rub against my shoulders uncomfortably

I’m wedged in between “late night meetings” and “bank errands”

I make myself smaller, compact – as I make more room for them

 

Suddenly, the lights are closing, the place is packing up

A neon sign brightens in theĀ tunneling darkness,

The light hums

“SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED”, it read.

 

So I stood, left empty-handed

Discarded the late night musings, the dinner plans

 

I crawled into bed

Tired bones pressed heavy against the mattress.

Letting out an audible sigh

But the air was thick with silence

 

It was all bearable

Or so I tell myself.

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