Factory Boy

Writing.com Writing Prompt:
Everyone pokes the little boy made of dough and this constant oppression depresses him over time.

The Factory Boy

“Another day,” the little boy thought to himself
As he gathered his courage to face it
He had had that same nightmare he knew
Oh, what he wouldn't give to erase it

No point in dragging this out,
‘Twas time to get out there and earn
Another day in the factory, giggling and smiling
The very thought of it made his guts churn

So off he went - hat cocked to one side,
Ribbon adjusted just so
But nobody cares or ever bothers to ask what it’s like
To be a boy made completely of dough

No, nobody ever has pulled him aside
After an especially trying and terrible day
And said, “Pardon me, Mr. Pillsbury sir, but may I ask,
Why you let people treat you this way?”

Or, “does it hurt?” or: “Do you ever get cross
And get tired of being made such a joke?”
They've no idea how it feels, and sometimes he thinks,
“How would they like it if I gave them a poke?!”

Poke, poke, poke on his tummy - all the day long
Some punch him, some grab and some scrape
And after each one, he’s forced to giggle with mirth
While they all laugh and make fun of his shape

But, his contract was clear that he stay “puffy” and round
But, just how much abuse is he supposed to allow?
What if they woke up to find their precious "Pillsbury palace" in ashes?
“Yeah!” he thinks chortling, “Who’s laughing now?

“And what’s with the giggling to sell biscuits and buns?”
"And so what if I’m a little pudgy and stout?!”
He wants to just to quit, throw his stupid hat at his boss
And then storm his Pillsbury dough butt right on out!

But, what else can he do? He often bemoans,
The job market for him is truly quite dismal
There’s just not much calling for giggling weirdos made of dough
So he just goes home and drinks Pepto-Bismol.

The End