Blueberry by Lolly Vieira

I'm staring at the blueberry under the chair.

It's not fresh anymore. Dog hair and dirt are stuck to it

as the juices slowly leak out in a circle around it.

I can't help but wonder how long it has been there

or how I ignored it since the last time we ate blueberries.

We stood up to hug, a make up of sorts, I suppose.

But I despise the guises we've held for so long.

I can't help but wonder what's real anymore.

Or why I don't believe you'll get better this time.

I am used by you. Some would even say abused.

I've hated you for longer than this blueberry

has sat unsuspecting under my dining room chair.

I want to break free from your seemingly eternal hug

and grab the blueberry to dispose of it in the trash where it belongs,

but I can't. I am trapped and out of control.

My pulse races, adrenaline courses through my veins,

as my mind tells me, "Don't interrupt this long, loving hug.

It would be rude to let your own neurosis spoil the moment

like the blueberry."

I don't know if I can hold on any longer.

The blueberry beckons me, shrieking its siren song.

I wonder if we're too flawed to function?

If we've spoiled just like the blueberry.

I tell you that I must grab this blueberry,

but you beg me to hold you just a second longer.

I itch and squirm as your infinite second

tattoos itself onto my soul.

The good times no longer feel the way the once did.

No matter how much I try to focus on and remember

how much I used to love you,

all I can think about is that goddamn blueberry.

I'm ready to throw it in the trash.