Onward they come at labored pace - dragging their home to its' next place, Five miles per hour - in the fast lane, bewildered by why - tourists have a bad name.   

Blocked behind them on the road - backbone of the tourist trade, waitress, chef, manager and maid - frustrated to tears, because they'll be late. 'Tis the same people they serve - who now determine their fate. Oh Lord I pray to never be - the kind of tourist that I see, with white legs scorched lobster red - blundering so blindly ahead. Video camera perched on shoulder -

urging their subjects to act a little bolder; seeing the world through a tiny lens - missing the beauty, that around them wends. Though at home it would be forbidden - on vacation, nothing is hidden. Bikinis now become steetware - stretched beyond hope. The tourist has his fun - the native has his joke!

When baby's needs are tended to - his soiled Pamper leaves the clue, dropped in a parking lot, or on a street - bet his home town smells real sweet! In all public places the kids run amuck - what they break, it's just "tough luck!" With parent's examples of rudeness and nasty deportment, it's really no wonder they fail in that department!

Oh, yes it's beauty they come here to see - the well kept grounds, yes that's the key, but their visit here will leave its' mark - with a trail of trash through town and park. Poor flora and fauna, they bear it alone,    they're chased or plucked, and packed for home. But along the way in the car, they'll die, and be tossed out the window - with a small sigh.

Oh, Lord save me I pray, from ever becoming such as they. When next I pack up for a trip - Remind me to pack the necessary grip: A trunk of gentle manners - a case of selfless nature, a blanket sense of beauty and adventure. And most important - all the while - help me to wear a gracious smile! ~ THE END ~

Janetmae has a newly published novel. Visit her website and check it out. www.janetmae.com