Woman eats orange

Woman eats orange in the square

Man eats orange in the square

Child eats tomato on a bench

A grandmother eats tomato on the bench

Woman shrugs her shoulders

Fixes her scarf

Laying down orange on bright green bag

Man in white linen suit flicks

Speck of orange off knee

Red and round in child’s hands

Goes squish pulp runs down bare wrists

She bites small pieces off, being careful of her teeth

Sweet sharp memories from mouth to mind

And the woman has thin brown hands

That she clutches tight in her pockets

When she is not carrying shopping bags

And the man hides soft secrets beneath

Soft loose fitting shirts

And a small brass object lies unseen

And the child watches calmly

Trickle down wrist running through dust

On a bench by a pile of rubble

And grandmother feels sharp pain in right side of her body

And breathes it out through the memories in her mouth

And there is music: percussion and brass

In the air

She is not here

She is not there

And silence rumbles at small toes that tap on stone ground

Gust of wind up leg whispers acceptance indistinctly

And she enjoys eating the orange alone but pines for the noises

The clang of markets and laughs and voices

Here but not there

And the colour of orange against green in the square

Of orange-stained white linen in the square

Of dust and red liquid on skin on the bench

And red in pink soft mouth as she sits on the bench

That woman has an orange

That man has an orange

That child has a tomato

That woman has a tomato

And who judges whether

They deserve more or less?