These Orange Days
Smashed orange traffic
cone is just one piece
of the universe—
park woman in a gray suit
sweeping plastic dinosaurs
another
In circles of frogs
sick in swimming pools
with pink bottoms
we think of neon algae
growing eerie
on river edges
You spend your life
counting signposts
but can’t avoid listening
as they sharpen
their yellow teeth
on galvanized buckets
Persimmons taste
an unexpected orange
like comets on the horizon
with a distorted moon
bitten bitterly
off orbit
When you listen hard
tinfoil squabbles
bubble the surface
of a glass tank decorated
with plastic dinosaurs
and mossed castles
Formulas change
margins narrow
major rivers
tantamount to signposts
on galvanized fences
turn rusted orange