Workers migrate for the coast
At the first hint of holiday,
Winging their way past lorries and vans,
And coaches coated with spray ochre tans,
Flying along motorways in single file,
The music of freedom for mile upon mile.

Father steers straight with his eye on the road,
Insisting on mix tapes he made as a teen
While necking sweet girls in his imaginative dreams.
Kids shriek games on the warm backseat,
While air hostess mums offer peanuts
And cushions, and packets of sweets.

They arrive with a fuss, and a sigh of relief
While father shakes his weary feet
And the mum takes the girls for an ice cream treat.
They unload their bags of shorts and vest tops,
And the hotel looks grand, at least from the side,
But a moment of doubt creeps in, I confide.

It can’t be this nice, thought the father too late,
I bought it for tuppence, or at least so I thought,
As he read the terms of the room service bill;
The cost of cool water was like climbing a hill,
Just when you thought it couldn’t get much higher…

But I digress; it gets considerably more dire.

The room was a state and mum had a fit
Cleaning up tissues and strange looking stains,
And the girls were fighting and being such pains.
Father took a beer from the fridge,
Ignoring the cost for the sake of some peace,
And stepped on the deck to get some release.
Five seconds later he was running indoors
As the clouds broke their cover in heavy downpours.

Expecting a break, they were fooled once again.
The weekend was spent in the room like last year,
While rain and thunder spoiled all their cheer.
There’s only so many board games to play,
And the food gave the girls a sore and sour tummy
And turned the grand weekend into a desperate plea.
Please let it end, I want to return
To the office of slaves who make my life fun.

Workers return from the coast
On the third day of rest,
Splashing their way past lorries and vans,
And coaches coated with burning red tans,
Dragging along motorways in single file,
The sound of the rain for mile upon mile.

There’s this tree over there
Blowing leaves in the air
And it’s roots go far underground.
Those apples so ripe,
Hold the answer to life,
They just need to bite if they dare.

So monkey one said to monkey two
Do as I say and watch as I do,
And climbed high up the tree,
Where the sky was so bright
Before God’s endless night,
And brought down an apple or two.

With a wink and a grin
He bit down in sin,
Then sat down and thought for a bit.
Monkey two did the same
And in a moment she came
As his knowledge washed down her chin.

They danced under the tree,
Unfettered and free,
And played until day turned to night.
As the sun went down low
Monkey one went to sow
His oats in the beautiful eve.

Nine months flew on by
And the monkeys did try
To build a home under the tree.
The first was born able
And they dressed him in sable
But the other used a cane to get by.

Now night came on fast,
And the monkeys at last
Left from under the care of the tree.
They walked far and wide
With nothing to hide,
No fear of a terrible past.

But then God knew their route
And remembered His fruit
That He grew from a seed on the branch.
So He sent them a curse,
With some words in verse,
That he knew that they could not refute.

Now the monkeys grew tall
And swung from trees not at all,
As they played in the ever-tall grass.
But wherever they went
God’s curse that He sent
Would follow them all to their fall.

The knowledge they gained
Was cursed to be blamed
On the wonder of God up above.
So all that they did
Was always outbid
By God and all He proclaimed.