The oranges I buy

from the grocery

store are okay

if a bit over-priced.
Their skin is

unblemished.

They taste like

an orange,

have an orange’s

large roundness.
If someone asked you

to think of a fruit

that is orange,

one of these would roll

into your head.

Adjective and noun

in one pithy ball.
But they don’t compare

to the oranges

I bought from

the roadside

on my way to the farm

that time.

They were small

and ugly

but so delicious.
I ate them and now

I can’t un-eat them.
The delectable memory

quietly undermining

every piece of fruit

I eat, mocking

my weekly trips

to the store

the careful way

I load my trolley.
Making me wonder

if there is something

sweeter

more right, more real

just out of reach.