sherrymcguinn

You don’t like me, even though I hold no ill will toward you. I see you coming for me, as I scramble over your fruit bowl.

I don’t have ears, so I can’t hear your curses…your recriminations. Why do you hate me? What have I done?

I should run. But an overripe banana gives me pause. My two stomachs rumble from its sweet, cloying, call to my antennae.

You didn’t know, did you? That I have two stomachs. One to hold food and the other to share with others.

Can you say the same? Do you share your food? From what I’ve seen of you and yours, I think not.

In fact, where I am lean and strong, you are soft and pliable. How is that treadmill working out for you?

Go ahead, hate me. You’re just lucky I’m not a bullet ant. I would sting the living crap out of you.

A phone call distracts you. Time to leave this bowl and move on. Ahh. Crumbs on the countertop. A good nosh. See how you like that.

Up ahead, a compadre signals to me. “Better pickings, over here.” But, as I hustle like a mofo, I see you reach for something.

Still on the phone, you are relentless. I hate you. As fast as I am, you are gaining on me.

Shit! One of your cats! I can’t outrun you both. Or, a blunt instrument. Please don’t hurt me. I have a family.