If it’s not football, it’s a strike
The railwaymen have timed it right
As the frantic hordes in search of sun
Traipse round the station looking glum.
Instead of hurtling down the track
To southern sun, they munch a snack
Disconsolate, they scan the board
Few trains are scheduled for abroad.
It’s bad enough on normal days
To be held up – but holidays
With kids and suitcases in tow
That stop before they start – oh no!
Recession dogs us – money’s tight
A few days off will set us right
But the hands crawl slowly round the dial
In 12 hours they’ve not moved a mile!
No announcements for these weary souls
While TV screens show football goals
Many are keen to go away
But instead of striking out, they stay!
(c) Poet in the woods 2014