ponderous poetry for the hoi polloi





Bittersweet bit o’ sweetness,

You’re cloudy even on the

Brightest of days.


But the Sun’s no match for your


Zesty essence and

Piquant presence,

You are the most brilliant of rays.

The Greengrocer from Gretna

Graeme Grierson, the greengrocer from Gretna,

Betcha never met such a ghastly grapefruit-seller and garden pea-giver

What a goof, he’s as grim as they come.


Grey-haired and yellow-bellied, he’s a horridly fetid old creep,

Cat-calling like a coward from behind the cashbox –

“Woods ye loch a tickle ay mah limes, hen? Al let ye gie th’ zest oota me!”


Ah yes, a right old character, a sordid fellow in fact,

The sort of man you wouldn’t buy a used car from,

Nor cucumber to be exact!


Oh! He’s cumbersome, never charming,

And apologies for his appalling use of apostrophes,

He’s a catastrophe, two strawberries short of a punnet.


And while his grapes may be seedless,

Sadly the same can’t be said for this seedy get –

The gruesome Graeme Grieson,

The greengrocer from Gretna,

The good-for-nothing hen-heckler,

Ne’er-do-well and greens-seller,

They should call him Loyd, for he’s such a gross man indeed!

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