Why I'm going back to eating olives on buses

The Ballad of the Stubborn Cashew Nut Packet - a moral tale

I get on the bus with my rucksack and bag
And a packet of giant cashews
Intending to save them until I get home
And have kicked off my workaday shoes.

I'm thinking, 'I'll open a bottle of wine
And chuck a few nuts in a bowl.
I'll sit with the paper and put my feet up
And snack.  It’s so good for the soul.'

But my lust for cashews - such a terrible thing -
Is a lust which will not be denied.
So as soon as I've settled and put down my bags,
'I'll just eat a few,' I decide.

I'm somewhat put off when a man boards the bus
And sits nearer than I'd like him to be.
(It's one thing to gorge on a pack of cashews.
It's another to have someone see.)

But my craven desire for cashews wins the day
And I go to tear open the pack.
But I pull and I pull and I pull yet again:
Pull it forward, and sideways, and back.

But whatever I do, the pack will not give in,
And meanwhile I am watched by this chap
Who is probably thinking: 'Any moment, four
Hundred cashew nuts will land in her lap.'

I'm a source of amusement to him, I am sure,
But I just cannot open my snack.
I look for instructions that say, 'Tear just here'.
But there's nothing on front or on back.

The man is enjoying the 'Desperate Woman
Who Lusts after Cashew Nuts' Show.
He's pretending he's reading his book but he’s got it
The wrong way up, so I know.

I decide that I'm not meant to eat these cashews.
The nut gods are against me today
The best thing to do would be just to give up
And quietly put them away.

But how can I do that while watched by Old Nosey
Who'll know why I gave up the fight?
He'll know it was nothing to do with the fact
That I just lost my appetite.

He knows I was gagging to get to those nuts.
He's seen through my lust, that's for sure.
He watched my teeth clenching as I pulled at that pack.
It was plain common greed that he saw.

Perhaps he's the Nut God himself, on the bus
To observe me and teach me a lesson.
Perhaps he's intending to show me the truth:
That truth I am slow in confessin':

That I lust after cashews like I lust for George Clooney
That my lust is a terrible crime.
That my nut lust will bring me destruction and sorrow
(And a couple of stone, over time.)

But just as I'm thinking, 'I'll give up cashews.
I'll throw them away. Yes, I must.'
The Nut God gets up and he rings on the bell,
And (un-god-like) he gets off the bus.

So, maybe he wasn't the Nut God at all.
I sigh with relief, and - what's more -
I rip at that packet with VIOLENCE. Four hundred
Cashew nuts spill onto the floor.


  1. Oh. My. God. I am laughing soooo hard. You are my cashew soul sister, and a damn good poet to boot. How delighted I am to discover your blog tonight!

  2. Wow! Excellent job. You little nut, you.

  3. What? and he didn't help with the pack? Did you say you tried with your teeth?
    Cashews and George Clooney in the same breath, no, absolutely not.

  4. Welcome, Sharon, to my nutty world. Do sign up as a follower if you'd like to. I like the idea of having a cashew soul sister.

  5. Thank you, Lesley. Glad you liked my nutty tale.

  6. Friko, I have a feeling he may have offered to help until I tried with my teeth. After that, perhaps he wasn't so keen. And Clooney and cashews, definitely yes in the same breath.

  7. Man, that was one of your best. Thankyou for warming me up with laughter in my freezing living room.
    Cashews and Johnny Depp in the same breath, yes. George Clooney? The cashews win for me

  8. Yes, Hillel, I nearly put Johnny Depp in the poem instead of George Clooney, but I thought it a little inappropriate for an old lady.


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