Waiting In The Bank Poem by Tony Adah

The bank is the least
Of places I would like to work
The slugs wore forlorn faces
Which were stuck to counting machines
All our presence made no meaning
To any of them
There was one called Prince
And he is the worst
In the show of nonchalance
To those of us who stood by the counter
Yearning for cash.
A certain lady uttered some coarse words
Which perfunctorily told us
They had issues with network
We waited as the counting machines hummed
And we grumbled until what we asked for
Came upon our hands like a favour.