TAMPA BANANA DOCKS
. . .
TAMPA BANANA DOCKS
I have a taste for ones gone sweet with spots;
to tug back their bitter sheaths
in thick flower tongues.
The sea-freighters dock
full in fruit; bunch-hung: el platanos y bananas —- umpteen-thousand
chartreuse commas shipped and ferried north by wind
in whose seagulls dartle and siren
for the innards of large snakes hacked from bunches
by the Ybor machetes of Cubanos.
I’ve a taste for coffee; obsidian in its Satanic envy yet
honeycomb; reverie your fleshy mariposa.
Between the storms, we watch the men scrape
and sweep the gorilla hands
of tarantula against large brooms into the bay.
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