Motor Vehicle Administration

it is addressed thusly:
A 'ode'
it reads:
A cue of cues, and I think the news
Could not penetrate our perturbation
Day or night, can't guess the hues
Electric light our sole stimulation.
Not that we were mad, nor were we glad
Nor comfortable were any the benches
All slightly ill, as is the fad
An overspill of lads and wenches
For wheels I think, they spill the ink
And become but a designation
To wait the more, to nod and blink
And not snore in resignation.
Music is piped, so the mood was typed
As if even it was data-entered
And some there, once having griped
Had their own fare, were somehow centered
Between coughs and running-offs
To visit the proper restroom
The numbers accrue, amid our scoffs
To renew our certain doom
Doomed to wait again, And then to send
A clerk to retrieve a clerk
Until at last, the chain must end
With a plastic card for all our work.

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