National Express, National Distress

In the hope that a poorly-composed poem is more effective at holding a corporation to account than a well-written complaint:

National Express,

It’s been weeks,

Since your staff lied,

Late at Night.

With no information,

Anger builds at your station,

And when I eventually shout,

Security throw me out.

I kip at a mate’s,

Get to work almost late,

The following day,

Having barely hit the hay.

I’m now in a taxi,

Three passengers with me.

Again no information,

Cancelled at the station.

From my point of view,

The laugh is on you:

I’ll vote with my feet,

And not book your seats.

For my part I’m grateful,

To have met wonderful people,

From cultures diverse,

With whom to converse,

In our little taxi.

But your behaviour’s disgraceful,

Leaving an 87-year-old lady,

With no direct route,

Your company is hateful.

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