Poem: The Last Orange by Lauren

There is just one orange left in the blue bowl on the kitchen table.

It wants to be round but there's a dimple or two to frustrate its roundness.

It wants to be sun bright but is tending toward rain clouds.

Does it hold inside itself Florida sweetness or did it dry up in waiting?

All its companions were chosen early for their promises of juice and acid,

promises written on their unblemished rinds and solid spherical weight.

But this orange, one last orange, is waiting still, asking for a leap of faith

or maybe just pity,

hoping for a less discerning fruit fancier to rescue it

from what awaits when grocery day comes again

and a new bag of apples, oranges, bananas

arrives to refill the blue bowl on the kitchen table.