a strawberry stand on the side of the road
fruit turning gray from the dust of unwilling cars
me, nothing but a blur
as the world rushed by
in a hurry
to go where?
to do what?
to see who?
when did this world become a race?
and who's gonna win?
I dust off the strawberries when there's a lull
taking pride in my fresh fruit
a solace
a reminder
a token
of the long forgotten past
a jalopy cruises by
at a speed that indicates he remembers yesterday
he looks and slows and stops
he takes a bit of the most red
he chews slowly
delighting in the red juice
trickling down his face
he smiles
pays for one red ripe strawberry
and journeys on hisway
