Queues are quintessentially British
And in them we spend days
Shuffling caffuffling
In Impatient malaise
I'm indifferent about the time I spend
In formal waiting line
In company, or for minutes
And I'm absolutely fine
In queues that move
Or for things I need
I never mind the wait
But certain circumstances I just cannot tolerate
Pushers in and space invaders
really wind me up
Poorly thought through filter systems
Or tills badly set up
Queues from lack of resource
Or caused by lack of skills
Or created by the elderly
Who haven't took their pills
In fact I never realised
When this poem begun
But the only queue I like to be in
Is a queue of one
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