Picking Lemons
I’ve sorted spuds at Cora Lynn, picked asparagus at Vervale,
Cherries in the Dandenong’s, beans on the Thompson close to Sale,
I’ve picked apples out at Labertouche and made a tidy quid,
But I’ve never picked an orange, and it’s time I bloody did.
I spoke to Billy Forsythe ‘bout the change I’m looking for,
We rolled our swags but where we’re heading, we’re not really sure,
It was somewhere up the Northwest at a place called Nangiloc,
Where the mob that offers jobs sent us out upon a block.
The block sits closely by the Murray where we’ll have a pickers hut,
And we’re told that we are lucky ‘cause there’s sure to be a glut,
Therefore we’ll make a pile of money like we never have before,
So we’re looking at a fortune with these oranges galore.
It was close to half past seven; we were waiting by a shed,
When the foreman gave instructions to us motley lot and said,
“We’ll have to wait another hour ‘cause the dew ain’t lifted yet,
So introduce yourselves around to those you’ve never met”.
There was Lotu once from Tonga, Mai Nguyen from Cabramatta,
Her husband Minh, and two dark blokes; from where it doesn’t matter,
There’s backpacker’s; some from Sweden, Germany and Spain,
And Ruby’s here from England, and Olaf who’s a Dane.
When our initial week was over, and we’re paid on Friday night,
The dole looked good for Bill and I, us sad and sorry sight,
We had aching backs and scratches that stretched from head to toe;
We had sunburn, rashes, blisters but hardly any ‘dough’.
Yet these people from around the world were doing quite okay,
Where we were picking three bins, they were getting six a day,
We held a meeting in the pickers hut, did Bill and disappointed I,
Then decided that for one more week, we’ll give the oranges a try.
We got better, gee we did, our bin total rose to five a day,
We’d finally got the hang of this, so we thought that we’d stay,
And then on Thursday morning, with us gathered in the shed,
Apart from Ruby, she slept in, the boss stepped up and said.
“I need a volunteer to pick two bins of lemons that are sold”,
I cast my eyes around the crew, and quickly seen unfold,
Every picker squirm a mite, for why I didn’t know,
But picking lemons don’t appeal. To the boss it is a blow.
Then in walked Ruby yawning, where she joined us in the shed,
She is the boss’s last resort, and so he turned to her and said,
“Can you pick lemons Ruby?” and quite adamant she chimes,
“Yes too bloomin’ right I can … I’ve been divorced three times”.
Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment