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On the yellow countertop,
next to the defrosting pick-of-chix,
between the pasta in a corked jar,
and the breadbox marked
"a slice of nature",
a bunch of black bananas
are bloody screaming
"We is OUT OF PLACE
here!
Put us in de WHITE PAPER BAG
in de ICEBOX NOW!"
But the dishes are dirty,
so they will have to wait.
And if I wanted to,
I could just smush them up in the
toilet instead of for banana bread.
I like the power to plan
the future of black bananas
when they scream at me.
Have a nice day you turds.
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