Blood Oranges

Blood Oranges

Dedicated to Martina Kelly

At first, I saw no wrong with the pack,
just some Oranges from the corner shop.
'Till I spied the words on the back;
'Made in Israel' that made my heart stop.

The packet fell,
and hit the ground with a thud.
I thought of where they came from.
Of Israel,
whose conscience was clean as mud.

Were they grown on dead men's farms?
Slaughtered while holding, children in their arms?
Do they know that they are growing in taken soil?
Giving life to plants through the death of the innocent?

Blood oranges, it seemed.
So fresh and yet,
Already rotten.