Poetry About Spain - "Feeling Puerto Ban-Used"
Jose would have had in mind,
A certain class, a certain kind,
Maybe not quite so cheesy,
Some might say even sleazy.
Where even Angels might fear to tread,
For they may fall into some strange bed,
Of a randy dwarf with slip on shoes,
Whose bulging wallet lets him choose.
From the babes there for his taking,
Who just do a little faking,
For it beats a life of grime,
Just to give the guy some time.
So flash the cash at the high class whores,
Who make a dash for designer stores,
With lips like a leather couch on the face,
Try not to slouch, keep boobs in place.
Bling-bling, with killer heels,
Wearing g-strings, for thriller deals,
Golfers, too, enjoy the life,
Lay golf clubs down, then text the wife.
Wannabe part of the set, got to network,
Find a job, the boss, a high-class berk,
Get ready to take some flack,
Or you'll end up with the sack.
You came out here to socialise,
I bet it opened up your eyes,
To witness such a scene, surreal,
Collagen injected, with no orange peel.
Who would have thought, back in the home land,
Kids in public school, with a simple back hand,
Your education, a correspondence course in the streets,
University, a place, for middle class geeks.
For the 17th birthday, buy them a Porsche,
Had a pony one year, next year a horse,
Hire a yacht to throw a really big bash,
Recovered in no time with a quick sale of hash.
Don't forget, thanks to the wife,
Stuck by you throughout, despite all the strife,
Now she's got her time to party,
Goes out wearing Prada, looks a bit tarty.
If you want my help, I want my cut,
Still saving for that nip and tuck,
"But I thought you had your boobs done?"
"Yeah, back then, when I was forty-one.
So now that you're finally living the dream,
With a house that's far too big to clean,
Better find ourselves a maid,
Just to keep up the façade.
"How did you ever afford such a gaff?"
"Don't know, back home I worked in a caff!"
"But this is such a lovely place".
"Well my husband works in real estate".
So here you're living a life of plenty,
Yet still you're always feeling so empty,
Every day, feeling all alone,
That marble villa ain't no home!
Keep busy, a party to organise!
A load of girls, a load of guys,
Give big cigars to old farts,
Who buy sports cars for young tarts.
Yes, invite that great old crowd,
To be our friends, they were so proud,
Cos' when I had, so much more money,
They found my jokes really funny.
With no lift to the airport,
Despite the help and support,
For friends who shared your dream,
No longer on the scene.
So now that you must return,
There's a lesson here to learn,
The grass was always greener,
Where your conscience was much cleaner.
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Written by Louise Miller
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