Green Bananas

by m.s.wardrip

I don’t have time for green bananas to ripen,

I’m much to old to wait,

I don’t have time to embroider poetry,

To wait would not make me great.

You, on the other hand, are all important,

You are the first in line,

You are, dear reader, to me, the finest of the best,

You, humble saint, are finer than fine wine.

For you take me seriously when I try to jest,

You ask, what’s wrong with me,

You give me attention while the world shuns me,

You lend me credibility, you give me validity.

In conclusion, I digress, there is no contest,

No competition, no challenged opponent,

Only the dilapidated rustling sound,

Of a man, broken, wrestled down in a futile existence.