Orange Light

poem by: Raychill Ellisonwonderland
Written on Aug 25, 2017

Out on my porch.
The orange glow from the street lights
Flicker through the deep blue hue.

Looking down, I catch myself fiddling, winding the ties belonging to the recycled plastic shopping bag in my clutch.

I wonder why street lights are orange.
Are they supposed to mimic the ‘slow down to stop’ orange traffic light?

I’m dawdling.  
Must hurry.  Deposit this bag and its contents in the rubbish bin under the orange light.

“You dropped your bag”.  
Zone in fast, orange to green, so to speak.
Focusing, I see someone in the orange glow.
We both stand looking down at the soiled nappies exposed by a tear,
In the bag.

“How old”? A jovial jest.
Confident that they're wondering about the age of the nappy wearer.  
“24” I reply.  
“Aww 24 months”? They assume.

“No, 24 years”.

Red, means stop then.


Tags: imagery,


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