I was at the supermarket, This fine morn, Buying this and that, Between sausages torn.
The pork with the leeks, The pork without. It does not matter - (Not what the poem's about.)
We begin our tale, At the end of the spree, When we all queue up, And wait silently.
And at the end of the line, Was I, not concentrating, When I spied the vegetable, Boredom negating!
And eggplant! An aubergine! So purple and true, Well you can imagine, What I had to do.
I began to caress it, Fondle it's curves, Thought no one was looking, But it's owner observes -
And angrily shrieks, 'Get your hands off my veg!' The whole shop heard, And to this I do pledge;
Never will I ever, Be so cruelly tempted, To stroke someone's vegetables, (Tomatoes exempted).
And I ran out in shame, Leaving my shopping behind, And the woman with the eggplant, Char-grilled in my mind.