‘Pick Your Own’…I’ve often wondered about that line
When I see the announcement on a roadside sign.
It seems somehow rude, like ‘shut-up’ or ‘bum’
But then my sons often say “you’re too sensitive mum”.
But it does seem quite stark, telling you what you should do,
But I cannot deny I’m the first in the queue
When it comes time for picking my own fresh produce,
From luscious red strawberries or gooseberries for mousse.
I get myself in there, in the thick of the bush;
Oi! That’s my punnet, move over mush!
My etiquette gone, I search for the best,
The reddest, the fattest, and of course juiciest.
And searching for raspberries, there’s no holding back,
I’m like David Bellamy through the forest I hack,
Reaching and grabbing, rummage and hoard
‘til I’ve filled up my punnet, my arms scratched and sore.
Then triumphant I land my huge catch with aplomb,
But discover my wallet’s at home…Oh bum!