Pollen
It’s bad this year.
Every morning, the car is covered
in florescent yellow;
there’s a constant sour flavor
at the back of the throat.
A dust this golden
should make the world seem happy,
festive.
Instead, the air is heavy,
everything feels unclean.
It adds to the haze of the afternoon,
when it’s 90 in the shade.
The piercing whisper of static
is born
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