Department of Motor Vehicles

By Wendy Freborg

Leave your name at the door —

there’s a number for you.

You will wait your turn

to be processed

and then to progress,

like an auto on an assembly line,

from one window to the next,

from agent to agent,

each a stone-faced automaton.

Your wit, your charm,

your social class

does not make you special;

this is equality,

this is life without privilege —

and you don’t like it.

Wendy Freborg is a retired social worker and former editor whose poetry has been published by journals such as Rat’s Ass Review, Right Hand Pointing, and WestWard Quarterly. She is a frequent contributor to Scalar Comet and Little Old Lady Comedy. The pleasures in her life are her family, travel, crossword puzzles, learning new things, and remembering old times.