The Last Banana

It all began last week—
The banana was perfect
So delectable, desirable.

Do you want this?
You can have it.
Did you have plans for it?
Yes, but I’ll eat strawberries.
You take it.

No, I want you to have it.
Never, it’s yours.
I won’t eat it.
I want you to.

Now it slumps on the counter.
A dark brown shadow of its former self
Fruit without form
A rank, collapsing blob
clinging to its peel

You need to clean up your banana.
No, that was yours, not mine.
I gave it to you.
You tried, but I wouldn’t take it!

And so, it goes.
Only the banana changes.