Dyslexic Banana Poem

There he hangs amidst his bunch, tempting me to have him for dinner, filling me with guilt about how I feel about this living thing with its yellow skin. My Buick’s also yellow, a sight to see. It was bought almost new in 2001. The car covers the miles like a rocket ethereal, the banana’s king sliced atop a bowl of oatmeal. My Buick is a world-beating car, the banana in the night is a shining comet. I love them both dearly and worship them annually.