by Margaret Iuni
Sometimes I think
I am the human equivalent
Of a tangerine
Skin just thick enough to protect
Until some thumb pokes through
Exposing a softness underneath
Pretty prepackaged slices
Torn too easily apart
Digested with the immediacy of hunger
The ugly ones left
Wishing that sometimes
They looked sweet enough for their consumer
Instead of the well known ritual
Of being disregarded then discarded while
Clinging to an otherwise eviscerated citrus carcass
