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.