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Poetry About Spain
"The Holiday Makers"
Visible, vulnerable, preyed on by vultures,
Saying they want to sample some culture.
Disorganised, Disorientated and not so dapper,
Saying they must really try out some tapas.
Cool, contrived, continental attire,
The rest of us, still, sat around a fire.
Chirpy, challenged, with lots of choices,
Not yet used to foreign voices.
Hot, heavy and hersuit,
It's the sun; it's their pursuit.
Flabby, fearless, feeling frazzled,
It's the heat that makes them dazzled.
Excited, embarrassing, even more,
"Dos cervezas, por favor".
Overwhelmed, over the top, over friendly,
It's the beer, it makes them bendy.
Lost, loud, logic at bay,
Left their brains upon the runway.
Muddled, moody, really moany,
Lack of system makes them groany.
Mijas, Marbella and not much yonder,
Perhaps, they'll try a trip to Ronda.
Rested, revived and starting to relax,
But it's time for bags to pack.
Shattered, suppressed, starting to scream,
It seems they too want to live 'the dream'.
Ego-driven, enlightened, envy in their eye,
Their lack of guts they justify.
Denial, depressed and starting to deflate,
Back next year to see their mates.
Lumbering, lethargic, legs like lead,
They'll be glad to see their own bed.
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Written by Louise Miller
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