I need a little green
to my banana
before the rush of sugar
takes its hold
and transforms
that green to gold
and the summer sun
freckles the skin
and softens the core
and there’s nothing to do
but turn it
into bread
but instead
give it to me firm,
young hearted
and a little dumb.
Naive,
plucked too soon. 
Still green.
As green as they come.