Atm Poem by John Fenton Mcleish

Check out time is seven in the morning
Hookers stream out of the 'falangs' hotel
She'll crash all day before re emerging
Then go shopping till the opening bell

She's got kids who stay out in the village
And tries to send money home when she can
This is all she will ever envisage
Unless she can snare a foreigner man

Walking automatic teller machine
That's what they call the old westerner guy
He might be ugly and a little mean
Long as he pays though she turns a blind eye

Doesn't care 'bout politics, human rights
Just wants new stilettos to walk the nights
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// falang=foreigner
// this poem may contain copying errors