The people huddle underneath the arches of

Arcades and KFCs, full to bursting

As the wind and rain drives through.

Theme park staff in posh blue coats,

Hoods up and heads lowered, point towards

The rides that still are open even though

The riders close their eyes and scream

In pain as raindrops pelt their faces

Leaving cheeks so red they glow,

And clothes soaked through, queues

For the great big dryers, that give us half a chance

Of getting dry, comfortable,

The chance of leaving with no flu.

At lunch time we all sit in silence,

Eating burgers that were warm, twenty minutes back,

Now they’re cold and limp, sad,

A bit like us.

It reaches four and people start to turn,

Giving up on old ideas of fun, of smiles

Of staying warm. Better to just quit,

Slouching out to car parks emptying at speed.

We sit inside, heaters blasting, windows steaming,

Trying hard to find the will

To make that drive back home.