our fruiterer is a riddling prankster
who jumps up from every corner
and tray and stacks, with any old silly riddle
(1)
“Looking at apples, eh?”
he approaches Sandy
“What did the apple say to the bug?
Oh – stop bugging me!”
And he laughs at his own humor
(or lack of it)
while severe Sandy rotates
an apple in her left palm
and he ventures to the next vulnerable customer,
who is me
“How, my dear man,” he proceeds to ask
“do you fix a broken tomato?”
I shake my head, bewildered
and he unpacks his own riddle:
“Tomato paste!”
And he roars with laughter
his chilli-sharp eyes pointed
at his next customer
(2)
And off he goes with his riddles –
with his booming voice, no pause
and wrapping his answers in cracking laughs
He jumps to an old man
and he says:
“Why, do tell me, do bananas
never feel lonely?”
“Cos they always come in bunches”
And the young couple he regales with:
“Why did the tomato go out with the prune?
Oh, come on…simply cos he couldn’t find a date!”
And to an old woman he says
in near-Oedipus style:
“What did the Dad Tomato tell his Kid Tomato?
Ketchup!”
And as in a light musical
he turns about and whoever he finds
he unleashes his final:
“How do you fix a cracked pumpkin?
Easy peasy – you use a pumpkin patch!”
Ah, our fruiterer is a riddling prankster
who jumps up from every corner
and tray and stacks, with any old silly riddle
...poem based on a bunch of jokes I harvested online, and that I've put together through this persona of my imagined fruiterer...