Strawberries on the Floor
The strawberries bounced then smooshed,
red stains on the sun-bleached wood flooring
that’s ok -  never much liked the wood anyway
or strawberries – the seeds stick in my gums
the memory of sweetness turns bitter
the inside of my lips go blotchy red,
old lipstick that flakes off slowly.
strawberries don’t let you forget – they stay with you.
it isn’t fair, what right do they have?
clinging to the tongue, parasites of memory,
feeding off the remnants of their last bland taste
the white part at the top
(nobody likes it but they eat it anyway)
strawberries are an offense
how dare they –
how dare they.