Ah, those damn tourists,
They come for brief visits,
Think they own the country,
Because they secured their entry.

They bring their own habits in their luggage,
Expecting everyone to speak their language,
They know nothing of the land’s local traditions,
Hearing of them from tourist guides’ newest editions.

Have they conquered this land before?
Are they humiliating the same people once more?
Was it, in their own history, once a colony?
Must every local be suspected of felony?

No people have dignity but their own,
Indigenous faces are for them risible,
The despise in their eyes for them is tangible,
And they have no problem letting it shown.

An overweight woman asks her husband:
“Have you heard these people’s funny names?
Did you hear their ancient glorious claims?”
He approves of her ignorance while patting her hand.

Included in their stay is a continental breakfast,
Their culinary taste is dependable and steadfast,
Thank God for the nearest fast food joint,
At least there’s a familiar reference point.

Exploring the native culture in second hand as visitors,
Their guided tour comprises a travesty of the traditions,
As summer-job seeking youth dress as their ancestors,
Doing snippets of history in a modern-day rendition.

As their stay is over, at the hotel they leave a meager tip,
The service not impeccable, the country not worth the trip,
Their next holiday destination is one much closer to home,
As a matter of fact, they might as well just stay home.