Orange is
Slogans, fists and drums,
Frightened women closing windows and doors,
Children snatched from the street.
Orange is
Xmas morning.
A window of frosted stars,
A tangerine like a huge carbuncle
Down at the toe of a woolly sock,
Its coat tugged quickly off
Like a fat lady's on a hot day.
Orange is a
A magnificent mincing cat
Walking across the room,
Its tail erect and waving.
Orange is marmalade toast,
Slowly melting into bread
While roasted coffee pours.
Orange is rioting petticoats
In a hot Brazilian fiesta.
Orange is
Pips afloat in the moat of a squeezer,
Launched in a squirt to soothe a streaming cold.
Orange is
A tease.
Not as easily won
As a Cox's Pippin,
It requires foreplay to get its juices flowing.
Orange is
Cheap and plastic, a Woolworth's picnic cup,
Or Buddhist cool in meditation robes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem