Brush with Bureaucracy
A poem by Barbara Brown, dedicated to all those who have had to get through the labyrinth of officialdom!
Brush with Bureaucracy
Over the hills and far away,
Is where I want to run today,
To “fix these papers” is what I must do,
I’ve done it before,
Don’t know about you.
Prepare yourself, take a deep breath of air,
Some sweets in your bag, a comb for your hair.
Take a number and wait your turn,
Your place at the counter, you must earn.
You smile at your peers,
They grunt their warning,
“I’m not in the mood
for Xenous this morning.”
An hour goes by,
Your number is near,
The clerk looks scary,
You’re gripped by fear.
Passport, papers,
Letters of proof,
But, Oh no!
The clerk hits the roof.
«I want them all copied
And all stamped three times.
Go to the next office
And stand in the lines.»
Shoulders hunched,
Off I go,
Who are these people?
Friend or foe?
Two hours later
And armed with each stamp,
I get back in line
And set up camp.
Tomorrow I’ll be
The first in the queue,
I’ve done it before,
Don’t know about you.
(xenous =ξένους =foreigners)