Doing Lines

Alphabetically numbered lines shuffle along,

Muffling coughs from one throat to the next.

Gathered once a month for a college reunion;

No diplomas in hand his time,

Only dole and only pints.

At the US embassy a maître d’ of locks escorts you in;

A Paddy in the shape of a Yank.

You sit, you wait, you pray.

You smile, you talk, you leave.

A sense of purpose comes in through the post.

The road less travelled by makes all the difference,

They say.

You can read all about it in my letters you’ll collect;

Don’t forget your money while you're down.