Humor

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The Revenge of the Veggies (and the Fruit Fights Back)

Whoever deplores
All of us omnivores,
And carniv’ry you cannot pardon,
But cheese and eggs, then, you
Remove from the menu,
And murder the plants in the garden??

To eat a veg-ettable
Is quite regrettable.
What if it’s turned on its head?
How it would astound
If the produce turned round
And started to eat us instead.

A warning to smarties
Who hold garden-parties
And raid the fresh stuff from the bed:
Beware, all you vegans
And other houl-ee-gans:
You eat all the mushrooms, you’re dead!

Beware of that fruit
You think looks “You beaut!”
And the juice would be great with your stew.
Then don’t come and whine
If you find on the vine
The Grapes of Wrath souring on you.

Imperialist man,
His expansionist plan
Is to grow more and fill up his greed.
But some day, the lettuce
Will shake off his fetters
In a snap he will bolt straight to seed.

And do not presume
To pick a legume
And eat it without its permission,
For once it’s internal
The reaction’s infernal
Resembling nuclear fission.

The brave vege-table
Is willing and able
To take on all humans and cattle.
The turnip and swede,
They have taken the lead
They’re all dug in and ready for battle.

The activist ‘tato
Will often quote Plato:
“By silence I’m giving consent!”
No! That left-leaning spud
Is no stick-in-the-mud.
To fatten us he is hell-bent!

The apple and pear
They declare “It’s unfair!
These capitalists sell us for money!
So, let us arise
And squirt juice in their eyes!
Then they won’t think it’s so funny!”

There it lies, so defiant,
A great, sleeping giant –
That menacing, huge pumpkin patch.
The dozing cucurbit
Pray, do not disturb, it
Can squash you with fearsome despatch!

The Family Brassica,
Facing a massacre,
Took up the Hammer-and-Sickle.
The cabbage and cauli
Attacked poor Aunt Mollie
Who finds herself now in a pickle.

The odorous onion
Complains of a bunion.
(It’s a long walk from garden to pie.)
But when you are peeling,
Its white flesh revealing,
Ironic! It’s making you cry!

Tomatoes turn rotten
When they are forgotten.
So don’t forget! Water that bush!
And if you are fine
With a fallen-down vine
Then you’re sure to get one in the moosh.

And as for the orchard
Its trees have been tortured
By secateurs, saws, ev’ry winter.
And then we complain
When we get a sharp pain –
Cleaning up, we get stuck by a splinter!

The celery stalks
Like fierce hunting hawks.
The blueberry’s turning blood red.
The thorny ras-berry
Is getting quite scary –
A socialist, commo hot-bed!

Those moldy stone fruits
Are a bunch of bold brutes.
‘Gainst the grower they’re hatching a plot:
To drop stones on his shed,
Bring it down on his head,
His posterior stuck in a pot.

For many a veggie
Is getting quite edgy,
‘Specially at harvesting season.
The plot and the field
Are refusing to yield
And the trees are all guilty of treason.

So don’t be a vulture
When you do horticulture.
Those yummy things treat with respect!
Don’t impose your agenda
On tissue so tender.
To the Greens Party they will defect.


Copyright © 2020 David Butler

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