Banana on the Sidewalk

Someone left a banana on the sidewalk,

not peeled, not eaten, just reclining

like it had somewhere better to be—

maybe waiting for applause.

Morning walkers detoured politely,

as if respecting a sacred exhibit.

A jogger slowed down, tilted his head:

Was this still life, or slapstick prophecy?

I considered calling the city:

“Hello, there’s fruit conducting philosophy

on Main and Fifth.”

But what could they do?

It stayed there all afternoon,

ripening under the sun,

a yellow exclamation mark

in the grammar of concrete.

And when it was gone,

no one mentioned it,

no plaque, no farewell—

only the ghost of a smile

that lingered in the cracks,

reminding us that comedy is brief,

but sometimes the street itself

writes the best punchline.