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The Flight of the Emmets : Ken Gibbs

by Ken Gibbs

The Emmets just arrive in Rock
As the summer gales begin.
Their accents are all ‘upper-crust’
At lunch, they all drink gin. 

The parking is a nightmare
It sends us quite berserk;
They drive here in their Porsches
A Bentley or a Merc. 

Some bring a Range Rover
With power boat behind
To clutter up the slipway
~ You always know the kind.
 
Some seem as if they own the place
The way they treat us here.
They are always supercilious
Which few of us can bear !
 
They show their wealth thoughtlessly
I think you’ll all agree.
Humility’s rarely a second name
On the 19th drinking tee.
 
They oft’ discard their litter
Where’er they feel the need;
Leaving us to clean up after them
Of their silly, thoughtless deed.

Their dogs are all ill behaved
And never on their leads;
They crap on all our pavements
~ It’s something no-one needs.
 
We wait for winter’s onset
We residential few,
When all those silly Emmets
Will have disappeared from view.



In Cornwall, an ‘Emmet’ refers to someone who is not local.  ‘Emmet’ means ‘ant’ in the Cornish language.
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