Off out tonight to the Bridgewater Hall
Classical concerts there are scary nights
You're surrounded by zombies, and they're all
Over seventy-five, and should by rights
Not have been let out of the home. Such sights
Aren't pleasant when you've paid, and dressed quite smart
Eccentric oldies, alone, with some light
Shopping in a plastic bag, dickie heart
And worst, a persistent cough. They ALL start
To clear their rheumy lungs when silence falls
Between symphonic movements. The slow flight
Bar-wards at interval; you cannot part
The undead crowd; you must slowly shuffle
Behind. You get served last. It's just not right...
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