April 4

Tart (a Sonatina)

Light strains through the screen like pulp from orange
juice. You make a small tornado in
your tea. You wonder what Mother would think.
That's what you do. Outside a gentle spring
breeze unclenches everyone's buttocks. Fuck spring.
Lately, you've been feeling like an orange
inverted, a rind encased in flesh. You think
that if you pricked your skin, you'd collapse in
upon yourself, just like those soldiers in
that movie, the name of which refuses to spring
to mind. You're not a member of the Think
Important Thoughts Brigade. I'd like an orange
is what you think. The juggernaut of spring
advances, drenching the world in green and orange.