Mr And Mrs Ex-Pat

They sit like pepper and salt pots White and silent, under the harsh sun Their hair is unisex, for easy-care His shirt is M & S Her socks are Laura Ashley They are coasting the pages for news Of British affairs Two of their five-a-day fruits Sit on a sparse table A pear, a plum, not luscious He studies the finance page She scans the agony aunt She is a clapped -out mini He is a burned -out Ferrari Two Cox’s Pippins in an ex-pat orangerie Together they count their cholesterol Ration their pension Eking out their dying years in the Costas