IN THE QUEUE Poem by Joke van Leeuwen

View of a neck. Thinks: him with the neck, does
he know about those two black dots in his skin
like rear-view peepers? Moves up. Considers
adjusting the label poking up out of
the T-shirt, EU40 US10 CA10. Doesn't.
Thinks about globalisation instead. The surf,
the mountains, rapeseed fields, muddy paths.
Postcards of landscapes travelling
for ages for ten seconds' silent scrutiny.
Moves up. Hits on the idea of singing - a song from the
previous century, one that will have someone singing along,
annoying someone else (freshly divorced,
for instance, put on hold on the phone with a poor
"'Cause I'm always, always yours.").
Moves up. Doesn't sing. Sees the shoes of
her who's up next, thinks of vases
in which people flower, sees
wonky heels. Moves up. A sparrow
needs to fly in here so everyone can follow
that sparrow with their eyes, unifying sparrow
in a panic. Is there someone here
of interest? Someone with wise thoughts
in out of the cold? Someone whose hugger
is deceased and no new takers?
Moves up. Him behind the glass asks his question.
A one-way ticket, please.
For today?