She says sign your name

The pen won’t work

We share a moment.

In the waiting area men

Cough and shuffle, there’s

A scuffle but I don’t care

She puts on a half-smile

And my name, on her lips,

Sounds like an aria, and when

She checks my form there’s no me, there’s just us

I’m in love with the girl at the JobCentre Plus

 

Is it the inkstains on her fingers,

The way she cradles the date stamp in her hands?

Is it the tired boredom in her eyes

Or the way I want her tie me down

With that little pile of rubber bands

That keeps me coming back,

Invited but unrequited,

Every two weeks, that makes me

Write a diary for her with all

The things I’ve done?                  

It’s hurtful and unpleasing,

Love in a time of quantitive easing

It’s so sordid and shaming…

I’d even shop my neighbours to her

If any of them were claiming.

And then I get a job and my dreams turn to dust

It’s goodbye to the girl at the JobCentre Plus.