The Tour Group
Looking out of windows, we see the tourists’ stare,
pods of wild balloons, jumping in the air
Ham rolls and pop and cakes galore, sushi pieces
eaten raw, meet the needs of travellers-sore,
missing home and friends next door
Then shopping in the holiday malls, umpteen beggars
follow well-heeled gals, they sell you something
you don’t need, made of shells, or river’s reed
And when the party’s all but done, and touring
guides have had their fun, this Napoleon’s army
beaten thin, straggles back the night to win
Vodkas, coke and watery beers, “will it rain?”
to add to fears; gypsy dance continues on,
romance created, free drinks gone
And then beneath the weary moon, the tourist
zest begins to swoon, heads are heavy, feet as
lead; so quick to heaven’s welcome bed
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015
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