Picnic

They've nicked our spot.
We hiked a whole ten minutes,
leaving broadband chat behind,
to Lion Wood, laden like janitors,
and what do you think we find?

They've nicked our spot.
Look at them, happy as chimps:
two parents, their two Damians,
eight bum cheeks hogging bench. These pimps
that watch us getting grass stains on our own.

They've nicked our spot.
Now we must camp down,
books in hand, with lemon spiders,
that stretch at these damp clowns
their spindles, looking bloody poisonous.

They've nicked our spot
and what's the betting
they'll be there
for hours, or 'til it starts spitting
and all of us trudge indoors.