Orange, A Sonnet

The world is ending. Catch us smoking weed

out of an orange in your mom’s backyard.

Oh, I’m a radio. I am a sound

between stations. This long-time listener,

first-time caller and magical thinker

is thinking now not so much about death,

anymore. It’s exactly what we read

about: wanting to ride the bus to school,

walk home in the afternoon. I look at

you and I don’t worry. I don’t worry.

I forget what’s supposed to be my mouth,

what’s supposed to be yours: If you’re hungry,

I’ll make you a meal of memories in

common. Forget we’re supposed to be afraid.