I’m fifth in the queue at the Post Office.
The woman at the front has a form.
I wait while she has it all checked.
This has become a bit of a norm.

Next is a shopkeeper wanting change.
He’s after silver and five-pound notes.
He’s handing in one and two-penny pieces.
I’m near enough to grab him by the throat.

Now there’s an old lady getting her pension.
That doesn’t take too long at all.
But it does when she tells the man her life story.
Have you seen a grown man bawl?

The one in front of me wants a scratchcard.
Annoyingly, he can’t decide which one to get,
If he doesn’t make up his mind soon,
I wonder how he’ll respond to a threat.

Finally, I’m at the front of the queue.
I simply want fifty pounds in cash.
But my damn card has been declined.
Yes, that’s my teeth you can hear gnash.