banana sandwiches in no name baggies

the smell of bananas and poverty
follow me relentlessly.
I am wondering if
the others can tell
I'm from small town nowhere
and I still don't belong here.
once apon a memory
I used to think you'd think of me
when eventually we'd part.
our ways have ways of telling us
what our hearts might repress or deny.
or better yet, to the benefit of others
we succumb.