As the mother makes lunches,

she places an orange in each,

hours later the eldest returns saying,

momi this one looks funny,

i don't want it.

Again she makes lunches,

placing the orange in the next childs bag,

hours later the child returns saying,

momi this ones bruised,

i don't want it.

Again she makes lunches,

giving the orange the youngest,

hours later the child returns saying,

momi the skins too tough,

i don't want it.

Finally the mother gives up,

taking it for herself,

she ignores its look,

she kisses its bruises,

she doesn't give up on the barrier.

Finally she reaches it,

as she tastes it,

sourness fills her mouth.

At first she cringes,

but then notices the perfect blend of sweetness.

It reminds her of a girl she once knew.

The one nobody wanted