A poem written about a disastrous summer holiday my friends and I experienced. |
Ibiza It is rare that Ibiza Comes to my mind, I believe some things Are best left behind; The passport lost, Found ten years later, Which almost prevented Us going together. Our hotel's location: The centre of ‘Party’, The thing we detested, All others so rowdy! We found ourselves drawn To a paradise beach Secretly stashed Out of ravers’ reach, Our first day sunbathing Was heavenly, chilled The sparkling, clear water ... With joy, we were thrilled Then Nina went swimming, Her lilo in tow, But she swam too far out To her rescue, I did go. Back at the hotel We all noticed the red, A bright crimson burning From our toes to our heads The agony kicked in, Spanish heat was immense Yet no air conditioning, How did that make sense? The next day the three of us Groaned with such pain, Suncream, we vowed, Never forgotten again. The next days grew worse, All so drenched in heat, Arguments were everywhere, Even out in the streets It wasn’t too long ’Til we started to implode And Shell threw Nina’s favourite shoes Into the road When the last day came We were so glad to leave, Back to England Where it was eighteen degrees. 48 Lines |