The girl at the smoothie stand is at it again.
Stripping down half a dozen barely ripe bananas,
Drenching them in juice and sweet nectar,
Rocketing ice down afterward.
She flicks the switch and commences the tempest.

The chunks shake and splat against the thin ­plastic walls.
Scuffling for a spot from which to peer out
As their souls are shredded from them, their brothers destroyed.
The frowning blueberries squish to puce mush
Now part of a whole.

What fun it must be, to render such a turmoil.
She knows it well, standing by the pool in her barely-there bikini,
Like her boss has suggested will up their sales.
Tearing up the boys like the fruit from the trees.
All for minimum wage.