Peter Lewis Holmes Poet Verse

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

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