A tangerine peels easily like damp wallpaper.
Sumptuously it offers up its segments within.
Equally spaced and held flimsily by pith.
I bite and citrus juices journey down my chin.

The tartness of the lemon triggers clenching jaws.
It’s intense citric acid an enemy of the palette.
An enforced grin as wide as a valley is fixed.
Buzzing in my ears like I’ve been hit with a mallet.

Juice of a lime might be pleasant in a yummy Daiquiri.
Or accompanying a tasty tequila.
But taken alone it’s much too sharp
And more tart than that girl I know called Sheila.