A coach crossed an old bridge,
Which collapsed and the coach
Plunged into the rains swollen
Douro river. Seventy people drowned
And the press went mad,
Intrusive cameras pushed into grieving faces,
Every tear and anguished cry
Recorded.

The Prime Minister came,
Shook hands with distress, spoke softly
And promised help for those left behind.
The opposition toured
Shook hands with sorrow
Blamed the government and pledged more gold,
If only they were elected
Squabbles and long editorials.

Four days the spectacle lasted till
A fishing boat sank off the coast of Scotland,
The Douro tragedy vanished
From T.V. screens
And the grieving were left alone
To cope as best they could,
Now that the spotlight had gone
And the ghoulish had somethingelse
To shudder about.