She examines each banana
looking at it from all sides,
looking down its shaft
as though sighting a rifle.
Each banana, in turn, she gently
places back on the pile.
My patience grows thin,
but I smile and ask her
if I might approach the bin,
grab a small bunch of bananas,
be done with my shopping.
I see five with skins
are a uniform yellow, no
dark spots to be seen.
She frowns a bit and I say,
“Did you want these?”
“Oh no,” she says, “I don’t
want those — like most
the curvature is all wrong.”