Love Among the Imported Produce

She invited me to step out, brave only that little, which was a lot, dance some even…take a chance…as if Busby Berkeley really made the world.

Saw her beaming at me from the banana table, far from her Guatemalan plantation life. She didn’t say her name, of course. But it had to be…Carmen…or, Miranda. Miranda…that fun-loving party gal on the Chiquita banana sticker.

I’d felt something missing before Miranda. Needed that little extra jazz. And Miranda only ever easy-going, expecting only my commitment to the sunnier side of life.

My Saturday night on the town…Miranda.

And, home, Sunday morning…the Land O’Lakes girl, though she still won’t tell me her name…for before her I’m simply content to kneel.