Pears

 A weary old pillock

Drags laden shopping trolley

Up suburban hillock.

Trolley contains two pairs of pears,

Four pears, to be exact,

Recently purchased, packed

And cellophane wrapped,

In a nice little tray,

Which will be thrown away today;

After it has been shipped

By muti-national fruit traffickers,

To Dollis Hill from far South Africa.

But the shopping trolley

Is not the only place

Where there are pears.

They are all around

The plodding pillock’s feet

Each step must be

Carefully and precisely placed,

As pavement pears are lying there,

On the ground, rotting and rotten,

Half-eaten and brown.

The tree that they fell from

Seems forgotten by its owners,

Or maybe they have never known

About the fruit that it has grown.

So, the pavement pears are

Unharvested, and to humans, waste

Whilst rats, birds wasps, and flies

Were wise enough to eat and taste.

On a world that starts to fry

Transporting pears for thousands of miles

Seems unwise,

While those homegrown

Just decompose.