Pick your own…well if you insist but it seems a little impolite. A poem


‘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.strawberry

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,

raspberriesI’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!


 black currant


About Sophia Moseley

Freelance Copywriter, Feature Writer and Author. Looking for that illusive job that every working mother craves but surviving, just, on what I can find. My writing and poetry keeps my sane. Watch this space.
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