The Tourist

To the tourist trespassing
Taking selfies on the stairs
During a fire safety
Evacuation drill:

Were you perhaps trying
To capture the moment
Before you were pushed
For documentary posterity?

Or were you born supplied
With a camera on a stick
Inserted somewhere sweaty?
Whichever; I hope

The gentle smack
Of an irate Fire Warden
To the back of your empty head
Rearranged your somewhat

Selfish priorities
Although I don’t doubt
We will receive your
Carelessly written complaint

Citing unfair treatment
In due course.
I do look forward to writing
An appropriate response.

Experiencing technical difficulties

There are few sights so funny
Or nearly as sweet
As watching the press
Sweep themselves off their feet

Ungainly gyrations
He twists on the grass
While Parliament Square
Tries it’s best not to laugh

The crew with the camera
Are shaking with mirth
While he wrestles dramatically
Down on the Earth

A bollock is trapped
Thus it must be adjusted
He grasps at his crotch
Sober-suited; move busted

To jiggle the crown jewels
Tips over again
While tourists and MPs
Are showing the strain

With faces like dough-balls
Left baking too long
All set to explode
At the stroke of Big Ben

Rolling in the annals

Acts of great stupidity, often go down in history
For those who always sensibly go on with life are dull.
If you would woo posterity, then you must cause hilarity,
For people have more sympathy with those who make ’em laugh.
So if a rule in clarity, you would seek – in charity
I tell you straight, ’tis jollity, that is the world’s mnemonic.