The Tomato

A cherry tomato came to my stairwell,
On a hot, hot day, and I on my way

To a coffee house

To have a drink there.

I came down the steps with my black shoes,

And stood, for there it lay,

Round and red

On the stairwell

Before me.

A voice inside me said, 

“Take your black shoe and squish it ,

Finish it off, till it’s dead.”

I must confess, though,

I did like the wholeness of
The round red fruit

Waiting peacefully on the stairwell.

The voice insisted,

“Go ahead, squish the tomato,

If you do not someone else will.”

And yet my education intervened

“How dare you squish the tomato,

What a childish thing to do,

To soil the environment with your childish whim.

And so I didn’t. I

Went on to the coffeehouse

Drank my coffee, talked my talk,

On the way back down the stairwell,

There it was,

The cherry tomato still staring at me

On the stair.

I looked round, I pressed my shoe against it,

And slowly squished out its lifejuice.

I stared with satisfaction,

But immediately I regretted it.
I thought how silly, how childish,

I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And so, I missed another chance to be a grown up
And I would have something to expiate,

If I only knew what it meant.