An Ode to Travellers Who Tell Me They’re Bored

I see that you expected more:
A nightclub behind every door;
Not one skydive, but four;
And narwhals lapping at the shore;

Technicolour markets dripping fur;
Every sunrise pure grandeur;
Al fresco caviar-stuffed lobster
(Five star average on TripAdvisor);

Architecture of great repute;
Hand-woven baskets of exotic fruit;
Cultural theatre most astute;
And a street performer playing the flute,

Whilst riding a unicycle no less!
And reciting the Gettysburg Address
Backwards, whilst to impress:
Beating Kasparov at chess.

If only the world was only theme parks
And every sky suffused by larks
And every sea with dancing sharks
And everyone spoke like Groucho Marx,

Then you wouldn’t have to say,
As stretches before you an empty day:
“My, this world is awful grey,
How can I make it go away?”

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