Prose Poem: A few years ago, New Yorker Jen McKenzie stood in line for two hours to eat at Emmy Squared, a Detroit-style pizza place (from the WSJ)

 

Standing in line is where it's at.

I mean, once I lock my knees

and stare straight ahead,

eyes unfocused, 

the world becomes Zen.

I become Zen.

My breathing encompasses

eternity.

And the long wait is 

a sacrament.

I first discovered all this while

waiting in line for a Detroit-style

pizza.

At first I was distressed

at the long line,

but then I thought to myself:

"There are no problems,

there is only the Line."

Detachment followed immediately.

The Line and I became one,

and time disappeared 

into a warm fuzzy blanket.

And when I got my order

I gave it to a homeless person.

I was no longer in need

of physical sustenance.

Now I seek out lines to stand in to wait.

For vaccines.

For toilet paper.

For artisan bread.

For polo mallets.

For Godot.

And sometimes I stand in line

all by myself

on my patio --

And sometimes I stand 

on street corners

with a sign reading:

"The Line Starts Here."

And people get it.

They really get it.

They line up behind me

for hours and days.

Sometimes weeks.

When the world is ready

I shall start the never-ending 

Line,

which has no stop

in either time or space.

And Detroit-style pizza

shall descend on us all

from the heavens

without money and without

cost.

Selah.