Blackpool Poem by Bernard Franklin

Sticky toffee apples, ‘Kiss me quick’,
tame donkey’s on the beach,
sand in hair, the seaweeds song,
and parsons try to preach.
As gulls fly in to steal your chips,
the candy floss is bobbing,
hot dogs ooze their mustard sauce,
and trams so full, arn’t stopping.
The funfair rides go round and round,
a pound a go seems cheap,
if you throw three darts at the bull’s-eye board,
the prize is yours to keep.
With sandwiches that are full of grit,
and castles made of sand,
fat ladies dance a jig of joy,
and conduct the oompah band.
As toddler’s paddle with their mums,
they don’t go in to deep,
and Granddad’s hanky on his head,
is enough to make you weep.
The famous lights shine through the night,
and illuminate the tower,
the pubs are open all the time,
so the luke warm beer tastes sour.
The cheap and cheerful hotel grub,
has ‘full English’ on the menu,
and the Labour parties conference team,
choose Blackpool as their venue.
Ice cream cornets, fish and chips,
and crazy golf to boot,
posh dancers on the ballroom floor,
drink champagne in a flute.
The fortune teller reads your mind,
and tells you you’ll be rich,
then you try to choose a suntan cream,
but you really don’t know which.
At the end of the day, Exhaustion,
and everything comes to a stop,
it’s just as well it’s ended now,
as everybody’s fit to drop.
The sights and sounds of Blackpool,
are a super sensory maze,
but nothing beats this crazy town,
on hazy summer days.