This poem was supposed to be about something I hate, and I very much hate bananas.

 

 

The fact that

you exude s

o much pota

ssium, and i

nsist upon tasting

  so very, very atrocious 

      really irks me. Why can’t 

        you be like all other fruits, su

          cculent and juicy, forcing our t

            aste buds to do the mexican ha

              t dance? Oh, I know. You don’t 

               have the physical abilities. Your

                horrid, slug-like texture makes me

                  cringe at the mere thought of mash

                    ing your obscene mass in my innoc

                      ent mouth. You are the reason babie

                        s cry with such intensity. Bulbous, blo

                          ated, and bizarre. I once heard your gre

                            at ancestors WERE slugs. And to think

                             certain humans insist upon eating you.

                             Enjoying you even. Ha! I hope they ima

                              gine themselves gnashing your great-g

                              grandmother between their teeth. I wou

                             rather eat the excrement from a pig pen.

                             The texture would probably be about the 

                             same, but I am sure the taste would be a

                            n improvement. And tell me, oh healthy on

                           e, what is with the strings? Stuck between

                           my teeth, they slide slimily down my throat

                          forcing me to choke on my own phlegmy si

                         liva, that unfortunately tastes like slugs, no

                        thanks to you. Not only do you taste like th

                       e dog poop on the bottom of my shoe that 

                      I stepped in last week and have yet to scr

                     ape off, but now you are a choking hazza

                    rd as well. Congratulations, you have a t

                   otal of good qualities that amounts to ze

                  ro! The potassium is not worth it, howev

                 er chock full of it you may be. I would ra

                ther die a painful death due solely to po

               tassium deprivation. When I imagine yo

              u, I see an obese gorilla squeezing yo

             u too tightly, allowing you to ooze out

            of his death grip, discharging sticky, f

           eces-like mush all over his hand. So

          the answer is no, I will not enjoy yo

         when it comes breakfast time. How

        unfortunate it is that when you are

       converted into bread form, I ceas

      e to hate you, I even love you. W

     hat a pity your existence is. Go

    d waste his time on you.

Published by Alison Howe