The Orange From Hell Poem by Jennifer Jenkins

hanging from bone-tree,
bright, robust and waiting
for you to taste
the candied sunshine-
you stand there green
and hating.

am I not sweet enough?
am I a threat-?
you strip my peel,
vibrant, crimson fresh
and become bitter,
spitting acid,
mottled flesh.

you squeeze my essence,
leave me with the gagging pulp,
mock as I bleed
through a sieve of fat;

begruding fingers
sting where your
bloody hangnails linger,
just moments before
you eat the luscious fruit
and floss your yellow teeth
with my arteries.