by Brian Robert Flynn

When peeling a banana
to get at its flesh, please abstain
from pondering any greater power,
alien or not.

The coming and the going,
the oozing, its incubating
and growing. A desire for control
existing reasonably.

The peelers probing
and pinpointing the scalp’s
sweet spot. Skinning the pulp
top-down, quickly and efficiently.

Instead, worry about
the green babes hurried
from the groves, plucked
and tossed in trucks—

the powerless plants, tall
and shocked; the heat, maddening
and ripe; their crying, yellowing
and silent.

Originally from Denver, Brian Robert Flynn is currently breathing the poetry and fiction of Washington, DC. His work has appeared recently or is forthcoming in Banango Street, Epigraph, ExFic, The Learned Pig, LETTERS Journal, Litro, The Moth, Rose Red Review, and tNY Press.