Roots and re-enactment

One of them beats it

As soon as I cut that grapefruit.

It permeates the atmosphere.

Even I know that.

The second one sits expectantly.

Is this treats?

I wickedly wet my fingers

With the juice,

Bending down with with the false handful.

An inch from his nosey nose.

He springs back, as if kicked.

Can an animal express betrayal and mistrust?

More poignantly than you might imagine.

I feel instant regret at my cheap amusement.

What was once my compadre

Has become a turncoat.

Thank God for their short memories.

Tomorrow, he will like me once again,

But it will require a double handful.

This dastardly deed I have done

To such a trusting soul.

I trace its roots back, maybe,

To an eleven year old me

Whose best buddy gave him

A bottle of 7UP.

The old green glass ones.

I smiled when he said

Here, I’ll open it for you.

I took a big swig.

It was filled with piss.

Such are the false friends,

And I have been one to something trusting and defenceless.

Finally, the third one sniffs the citrus fingers.

Licks and hangs around for more.

There’s no accounting for taste.

Therapy session over.

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