Satsuma

Satsuma, were you Man's first attempt at cloning, neither orange nor tangerine, misshapen orange, misspelt tanggerine as you left the Japanese test tube, ends flattened through lack of genes, did they call you Fatsumo ready to be fed by the thousand into the bottomless pit of the revered wrestlers, or did they call you Squatsuma, yes, that would be more accurate, no 'r' to confuse with 'l's no 'l's to confuse with 'r's, olange would not fit the birr, tangeline, no-one would buy. Your skin takes the traditional colour, it hides a unique aroma, and a deadly shot of acid released when a manicured finger invades your very being. Oh bad tempered offspring you do not appreciate it when the pith is taken. Within you resemble your fourbears, segmented, regular,but one taste, one simple taste, for the aficionado, heaven, fulfilling the promise aired when your skin was violated, for others, 'Yuk' a taste not to be acquired, a failed orange, a poor impression of a tangerine, Satsuma, Fatsumo, Squatsuma, Toysuma, Suzsuma, Madzuma, only the japanese could have invented you.