Jack Queues
I don't like pointless exercise
Like standing in a queue
With both eyes fixed upon a prize
And both feet turning blue.
It isn't English, politesse,
Despite the archetype
Of toast and tea, and formal dress,
And puffing on a pipe.
I want tomorrow yesterday.
It drives me from my wits
To stand here. I won't say hooray
For the spirit of the blitz.
Patience? I won't mention her –
Who cares for etiquette?
I am an English pensioner:
Bring me the internet.
Old fogeys do not have the time
To hang around in churches
And wait for distant bells to chime.
I only want to purchase.
Shopping is the English sport
Where reverence is due:
It is a very foolish thought
To say I love a queue.
Youngsters, I may have to spank you,
If you do not shift:
Never mind this 'please' and 'thank you':
Move it. Get my drift?
Times have altered; clocks move on:
Dunkirk is auld lang syne.
I'm logging on to Amazon.
I will not stand in line.
I am supposed to bite my lips,
To worship the polite:
But if I want a bag of chips
I can't stand there all night.
My hair is grey as ash, my face
Is whey, I have one tooth.
Log me on, or up your pace,
You dreadful English youth.
