I Squash A Banana

When I emptied my rucksack this evening, I found a blackened banana at the bottom.  I put it in this morning firm, bright and yellow, intending to eat it with my lunch.

Montaigne advised that we mustn't regret, only reflect.  

I have squashed bananas before, and reflected on them. I have considered buying a yellow plastic banana-shaped case to protect my in transit bananas.  When I've squashed more than one banana at a time, I've made cake from them, counted my good fortune.

But try as I might, looking at this squashed banana: its skin split, its flesh oozing out, its smell tainting everything that had been in my rucksack: my purse, my pack of tissues, my Patti Smith CD,  my umbrella, my book about lemons, it's regret that I feel.