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