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.