The Never-Ending Economy
“Queue Here” reads the sign
underneath the old railway bridge.
An arrow points towards the wall
networked with ivy tracing mortar-
the road map of the industrial age
in dark green with white flecked veins.
The line begins to form, men and women
in polyester uniforms and crumpled suits,
virgins to hand-outs clutch at tickets-
early birds to an imaginary worm.
Eventually they begin to die, they fall
at the wayside and lose their place.
“Someone should be on the way” they moan.
Imaginary bankers walk amongst them
nudging out pockets into invisible sacks,
grimly extracting their pounds of flesh.
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