monday morning at the dmv

there is no
hell, the wild eyed
man says
while waiting in line
at the dmv.
but this is close
to it, he screams,
minus
the lake of fire
and demons
jabbing us with
pitchforks.
he's standing on
a chair
at this point, yelling.
these people are
all minions
of the devil,
they want to punish
us for our sins,
our driving transgressions.
we thirst, we
hunger and there is
no end in sight.
our salvation is lost.
right on brother, someone
says. right on brother,
waving
his paperwork for
an out of state
vehicle ownership
transfer.
the security team
arrives and wrestles
the wild man
to the ground
they give him a nice
calming burst of tazer
electricity,
then drag him off.
number three hundred
and seventy three
a disembodied
voice says over
the loud speaker,
and everyone
moves up a foot, or so.