Blue bananas exist.

I have eaten them

from the sky,

stepping over continents

to lure them down

from sun-bleached sets

that once appeared,

I’ve been told, in films

only dilettantes saw.

 

So much for proof

and assertions;

love trembles

but rarely departs the stage;

and as we discuss and debate

the ifs and buts of possibility,

clouds gather overhead,

protecting their new crop

 

of bold blue bananas.