By a Bolton Hill Neighbor, June 14, 2015, 9 am
pressing down
leaning on unwary humans
in the “orange” air.
I dash to the trash
with a banana peel
and turn my face up
slowly breathing in
all-over moisturizing.
Only orange to be seen
are thirsty tiger lilies
drooping into the alley.
Breathless Linden trees
perfume the soggy scene.
If I sit here for prayer
will I become one
with Normal?
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