145. An In-Qeue-ry

A queue is what you call
A line in Great Britain,
Though lines there aren’t at all
Since waiting’s not the plan;
The plan is just to walk
Until you reach the front,
Refusing halt to balk
For those you might affront.
Lines or Queues,
Cue the crudes –
Do they exist, or just for prudes?
I cough when cut, to not offend
Those who force the order bend,
But, regardless, end up at the end.