The crowds come every summer.
For us locals, what a bummer.
A tourist town is where I live.
People flock here with money to give.
To stores and attractions where they go,
to buy some stuff or watch a show.
Even at the ice cream shop,
the line’s long, I will not stop.
They visit my town every year,
but let me make one thing clear,
though they spend lots of cash
they also make lots of trash.
To the bars, they go at night,
to get drunk and then they fight.
I know they spend lots of dough,
but I wish that they’d go
elsewhere else with their money,
and their kids and their honey.
But to the town, cash is king.
They want the tourists and their bling.
I’ll end this rant with one wish,
they don’t find where I fish.
I need just one place,
where I won’t have to face
a tourist with an angry voice.
Quiet time is my choice.
If they find my fishing hole,
then I know just where I’ll go.
I’ll have to run on the beach,
where I’m always out of reach.
Though in the end, the crowds will come,
they won’t bother this beach bum.
2 thoughts on “Tourist Town”
This is a great story.
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