the long line

some minutes are like
hours,
days
like years.
the long line doesn't move
as you stand
there with
papers in hand,
daydreaming, wondering
what the hold up is.
someone coughs,
which makes you cough
and lean
towards fresher air.
at some point
you forget why you are there
with all these other
people.
these horrible people
and their horrible
screaming children.
you question your own
life,
your sanity,
you stare at your shoes
and see a hole
in the bottom of one of
them.