Low Season Bullies

POETRY

Free verse poetry no money in tourist low season

Night after night when all is tight
there’s no tourist money around;
local lads squabble local lads brawl,
then go bash down a foreigners door.

Swing a baseball bat give them a laugh
down the end of their mocking barrel;
hands now shaking up in the air
as fear for the family takes hold.

You let them have it all
then they let you have it
as you pick yourself up
off the bloody floor.

The neighbours are cowering,
will they be next,
or did you give enough up
to feed the lads tonight?

There’s always tomorrow or the following night,
be rest assured local lads
will come around to visit,
taxing the affluent dream.

It would be wise to leave out milk and mince pies.

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