stickman review

1:30 A.M.

by A.J. Huffman

I am a banana, peel
                        dropped,
intentionally to the floor.  One
long yellow strip arcs back
up, accuses me of belonging
in the trash
                   can.  I flash
perfectly curved flesh,
an almost [crescent] moon.  I wish
for fingers to flip off
           when I fly off
the next anonymous hand(le).
I count to 10,
                       only make it
to 5 before a meteor of a mouth
descends,
                 dissolves
                                 what is left
of my body into night.