Little Black Box - poem

I'm waiting outside the store.
In a crowded line of 50 or more.
Nervous and anxious.
My hands are shaking.
Desperate for the clock to skip forward.

Five minutes pass, and so does an hour.
People come and go, but I'm not any closer.
Anticipation is killing us.
The lines not thrilling us.
We wait a little longer.

Restless, and the chants are louder and louder.
Lights blink on, as we get angrier.
Begging for an update.
Disappointed by what they don't say.
The time is drawing nearer.

We go wild, as a shadow stands by the doors.
They swing open, and in we all pour.
Out on the left in on the right.
Ecstatic, we made it inside.
Half the boxes are gone, they swear there is more.

A little black box, is what we're mad for.
Won't solve our problems, but it might make more.
Another fool in this line.
Wasting my time.
Little black box distract me from this cruel world.