Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Lonely My Banana


Yellow full and ripe or green with envy.
I've never seen one looking, blue with soul.
Roses shed their petals, white are pearls.
Singing words like this and sweet is prose.
Long and bent, when yellow, squeezed and pulled.
My banana is my song, the night grows short.

Submitted: Friday, November 29, 2013
Edited: Saturday, November 30, 2013

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