RIP the ones at the bottom
Bananas, bananas, bananas galore
Pushing and shoving to get through the door,
Bananas, bananas spew forth from the van
Their desperate escape all part of the plan.
Hand upon hand, fingers yellow and plump –
All starting to turn and condemned to the dump –
They have to get out … claw free while they’re able
And hope they get noticed then put on the table.
A mission to nourish and not go to waste,
They hurry and scramble, and yet in their haste
The ones at the bottom, forlorn and forgotten,
Are squashed by the weight and so doomed to go rotten.