1 hr in the Tag Office

People sit, all types, all kinds,
Calling our names, is a bushy red-head
with glasses too large for her face
and many keys swinging from her neck,
The passing of men and women in
tight cramped rows of chairs,
News media streaming overhead
making it hard to hear your name,
Voices drift over the news,
rising and falling in discord.

Window 13, a woman with a cane limps to,
Children enter, with their feet swaying
off their seats,
Requests for change, drift over my ears,
wanting drinks and candy,
a vending machines delight.

A pretty woman in a red tube top and long
flowing black curls, saunters by,
A man in the corner, looks as though he eat a few
too many watermelons whole.
The surfer makes a quick dash for the exit,
time to hit the surf.
An Elvis wanna-be, young couples dressed alike,
a mother with younglings in tow,
an elderly woman with bright red hair
and penciled brows
Await their turn…

Scary thought it is,
To see some of these people here
Knowing their abilities deteriorate over time,
Too many, too naive, to sit back and see,
Though our days of walking are gone.