Strawberry Buddy

On a hot July morning in the year 2025,
Strawberry Buddy, suddenly aware
(with human thoughts), struggled
with this overpowering miasma
of brainwave focus within his
soft red self: jealous of the
stately oak, envious of
the plumper berry,
anxious of the
solar ray. 

Thoughts
once reserved
only for man now
compressed seeking
escape, or perhaps mere
assuagement.  Buddy
cried without eyes. 

Then conflict arose, like a jackal
and a dove, wherein love, compassion
and empathy faced bitterness and the
lance of hate.  Yet Buddy possessed
reason, a tempering tool, a calming
component of human thought
packed within a limited
space. 

I am merely pulp, Buddy mused, yet
I know, too of love and of sacrifice. 
I do not know how I know, but
this battle can be controlled.
I think, therefore I am…
a strawberry. 


31 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
1-6-20