There’s a nasty stain on the carpet
A yard from the door,
Dark orange of a shade
I once used to adore.

I’ve bleached and soaked the relentless spot
Till my hands and knees bit,
I’ve covered it with rugs,
But my mind still wont remit.

Curse the careless way I ate that fruit!
I cry into the smudge.
Each time I walk inside,
This brand relights my grudge.

Maybe over time I’ll learn to note it less,
A spark more than a fire.
Till then I guess I stare,
At this mandarin expired.