Sordid tales of the DMV, ala’
Little sluggish people behind
Screens of enigmatic code,
Their underpaid fingers
Empowered with the knowledge
Of everything you have ever done.
Question is, does God even know
You ran that stop sign on 10th and
Numbers, papers, screens,
A room full of young, pimply faced
Kids, innocent of the bloody freeway…
Elders fearing their independence,
And impatient urbanites tapping their
Feet and watchfaces in a vain attempt
To hurry the portal of time that seems to
Come to a screeching halt once
You pass through the doors.
If kidnapping is a crime, then the DMV should be
Charged with an unmentionable felony count…
Holding us in this hard, uncomfortable dungeon
Against our will, forcing us to wait, wait, wait…
Whilst they sit behind the counter like magistrates
Of all that is sacred and holy. Whatever, eyes rolling.
My stomach grumbles in angry protest.
Truth be known,
I’d much rather ride my bike. To hell with my car.
1 comment:
lol I love it! People need to write more poems like this!
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