I’ve always thought of tissues As cellular matter: An ensemble of cells To make us stronger or fatter. As little square sheets For wiping food splatters, Or stifling our sneezes In the midst of our chatter. Then came the revelation, The dismayed observation That tissues could be … Tools of reservation! Hungry people prowled, With trays laden with food. Tables around them sat vacant Yet some ate where they stood. The reason, you see, Is this phenomenon called ‘chope’. In hawker centres and food courts, Want a seat? See the tissues? Abandon hope. Because every packet of tissues Marks a reserved lot; Each owner will be back With his food, to his spot. But must we obey tissues?! Can’t we toss them aside? Who started this ‘chope’ thing anyhow? Why must we all abide? These packets of tissues Should not be more powerful than laws. Tissues are for blowing noses And wiping sweat off our jaws. Yet we’ve allowed this - This bizarre situation Where a tiny inanimate oblong Is a tool of reservation.
Daily Prompt ~ Reservation