I’m a jar of Greengage Jam
and I’m upset because of a remark made by a man.
He’s tall, good looking and funny
and one day he said ‘I love the taste of sweet honey’.
Well that, for me, is not what I expected to hear.
Not when only this morning he called me ‘dear’.
We would always meet for breakfast at around 8
and before he picks me up and spreads me on his plate
he’d carefully pop my top off and look inside and say ‘wow you do look yummy’
and take a mouthful with a spoon that quickly disappears in his tummy.
With a smile he’d then put me on his shoulder so he could hear
these loving words - ‘thank you my dear’.
But this time, before he could put me down to finish his tea,
I shouted loudly, ’Marry Me, Marry Me’
To which he promptly and calmly replied, ‘let’s talk about it later’.
And quickly put me back in the refrigerator.
Now I’m just another pot of jam left in the dark and cold,
somewhere deep at the back alongside an out-of-date cheese with lots of mould.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem