ORANGES (an old poem)

i pass the time being depressed in bed
and eating an inordinate amount of oranges
there’s something cathartic in peeling away the skin, the pith,
and ignoring the deadlines that loom in red marker
at the top of my bedroom mirror
i consume book after book
fruit after fruit
drinking only green tea and water

i forgot to pick up my meds (the ones that make me less depressed)
my parents sent them first class
they got lost changing hands
so i spent a week wondering
who’ll water my plants when i’m [ ]

i’ve learnt to peel an orange in one long strip of skin

when i was a child i saw ghosts
and my father stroked the coffee table
when he’d drank a bit too much gin
i worried what lurked in the basement,
in the attic, the mirrors, front bathroom, back hall

when the orange is naked, bare,
you pick at the veins,
the tough dead tissue is bitter to taste
throw it away
throw it away

my back garden flooded with sewage
they didn’t let us out to play
we sat in a room as it rotted
catching rain in ice cream tubs all day
we slipped on a floral plush carpet
and learnt how to hide our dismay

sometimes when you eat
your teeth hit a seed
a pit
a pip
spit it out

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