So many places closed,
And what’s open you can’t get to
For ****** tourists.
Big black clouds are over:
A chill wind blows.
The workaday sun has gone.
Oh yes, it’s Bank Holiday.
The weather is foul
Yet everyone is out.
I can’t get parked.
The crowds slow down
My enforced march.
Our local chippy is closed.
A Doctor?
No chance!
January in May
And maybe in June.
Christmas is worse.
All those needless presents.
Gifts for the sake of it.
Keeping the retailers happy
At our expense.
I’m in a grumpy mood
But who can blame me?
I always try to be upbeat,
But not today.
Paul Butters
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
So many places closed,
And what’s open you can’t get to
For ****** tourists.
Big black clouds are over:
A chill wind blows.
The workaday sun has gone.
Oh yes, it’s Bank Holiday.
The weather is foul
Yet everyone is out.
I can’t get parked.
The crowds slow down
My enforced march.
Our local chippy is closed.
A Doctor?
No chance!
January in May
And maybe in June.
Christmas is worse.
All those needless presents.
Gifts for the sake of it.
Keeping the retailers happy
At our expense.
I’m in a grumpy mood
But who can blame me?
I always try to be upbeat,
But not today.
Paul Butters
Request permission to use this poem