Untitled, by Gabe Gudding

I don't think Gudding is pursuing his poems any more, and that's a shame. This just lobs peace at me. 

I consider this a prose poem.

Untitled

We enjoyed Granada, we met amusing people there, there was a big park by the sea and a spattering of croquet balls abandoned in the grass, wooden planets, moreover there was a cow and a well and a thing brightly hanging on a high brown barn -- we walked from picnic to picnic, a little chain of picnics out to the east, and at the last one a small man with a lone banana showing us his best nickels, he kept our attention for a long time and then, like all of those days, it just kinda vanished.

From Gudding: 
Found in one of my notebooks, based, I think, on a phrase by Gertrude Stein starting, "We enjoyed Granada."