Not Michael Douglass’ Bananas by Erica Sternin

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We stopped at the roadside stand
With the hand lettered sign,
“Free Food”
because it seemed quirky,
And it was.
A dredlocked dude, brown and
Lean as an upright leather belt
Held forth, with a cheap beer, standing
Under a sweltering blue tarp,
Next to the piano,
Which was as dusty as he
And badly out of tune,
Since of course we had to play it.
“All the food is free,” he declared,
Gesturing to the three small piles of bananas,
Although he would accept donations,
In a can labelled Beer Fund.
These bananas, he pointed out,
Are NOT Michael Douglass’ bananas,
Which are much, much smaller.
Laugh laugh smirk smirk,
Because Michael Douglass’ bananas
Are only available to guests of the ranch.
Which I’m not.

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