This was a reply to a poem by Holly Mcnish on Facebook. The original can be found on her page at

It’s got nothing to do with their lack of suit or shirt
We’ve got money going spare if they want paying for their work
The problem is with grannies is the same it is with bees;
It’s the way that they gather in the aisle at sainsburies.

We’re too busy being ignorant to give a damn about their age.
It’s nothing to do with the smell of them being lavender or sage
It’s more the fact they’re in the way as we are coming through
It slows us down, they’re dawdling, they’re holding up the queue.

As for bees, where do I start with their tiny buzzing form.
There’s no time for us to admire the frantic wandering swarm
which is gathering in the middle of the path we want to tread
like little old ladies at a fair or baking honey bread.

Why should we care for honey or the cakes that granny made?
They’re a nuisance, a pest they’re in the way, they do not make the grade.
Their busying around gets on our nerves, their face in our affairs
and we wish that they would bugger off. Honestly, no-one cares.

In truth we should be praising their desire to give us aid.
After all, who are we to ignore the endless tirade?
We owe them everything, both grannies, and the bees
And all too soon they will be gone, like snowflakes on the breeze.

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