Bananas

[Stephen Whiteside]

Bananas

© Stephen Whiteside 29.09.2012

Do you peel an orange with fingers or teeth
To get at the juicy flesh buried beneath?
Do you just bite an apple, or cut it in four?
Do you peel off the skin? Do you nibble the core?
Do you spit out grape pips? Do you swallow them straight?
Do you bite the grapes hard, and discover them late?
Thinking of peaches now, do you prefer
Clingstone or slipstone? And what of their fur?
Do you like nashis? And why are they pears?
Is that just a label to give themselves airs?
Blood plums or yellow plums? Which are the best?
Do you prefer green gauges to all the rest?
What about apricots? They’re pretty good,
Though the pips at their centre are tougher than wood.
Cherries are yummy, all juicy and red,
But my jammies get stained if I eat them in bed.
Then there are melons, both water and rock.
Their juice dribbles right down my leg to my sock,
And lastly, bananas. They come in a bunch.
I eat them for breakfast and dinner and lunch.
I eat them for play lunch. I eat them for snacks,
Whenever I’m hit by my “hunger attacks”.
I eat them with bread. I eat them with cream,
And sometimes at night of bananas I dream;
I dream of bananas that no longer bend,
Straight as a rod from an end to an and.
I dream of bananas that curve right around,
That join up so well that their ends can’t be found,
Donut bananas, like circles of gold,
Bananas brand new, and bananas most old.
Blue ones and red ones and green ones and black.
Bananas you never could face for a snack.
Bananas as big as a house or a tree.
Bananas so small that you hardly can see.
Magic bananas that do clever tricks,
Like jumping through hoops and retrieving old sticks.
Bananas that swirl like a fog in my brain
Again and again and again and again
And again and again and again and still more.
I throw off my bedclothes and roll to the floor.
Nightmare bananas. They give me no peace.
I race to the window in search of release.
The cool evening breeze hits my face like a balm,
But out in my garden, I see a tall palm.
It’s full of bananas! I race to the street.
Help me, oh help me, oh help me, I bleat.
Help me oh help me or help me, I plead.
I’m going bananas. They’ve planted a seed
In the core of my brain, and I cannot get free.
I don’t understand what is happening to me.
Lights flicker on now. The bark of a dog
Penetrates deep through the thickening fog.
Voices surround me. They’re soothing and sweet.
They usher me back from the cold empty street.
An apple is cut. An orange is peeled.
Deep in my brain space, a raw wound is healed.
Grapes come, and cherries, and melons, and pears,
Cool, sweet and soothing to settle my cares.
I turn to a neighbour. I think his name’s Keith.
“Do you peel an orange with fingers or teeth?”

[Rimeriter]

"Whew" Stephen.
Good one.

The obvious rejoinder is -

" 'ave ya gone banannas" ?
Jim.

[Stephen Whiteside]

...and the obvious answer is, "Yes". Thanks, Jim.

[Neville Briggs]

Very good. Following the theme of bananas to all ( or as many as can be found anyway ) possibilities is a brilliant development for an entertaining piece.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Wow! High praise indeed. Thanks, Neville.