Mustard Yellow Poem by anais vionet

Canada is afire and I'm confused, shouldn't the snow put that out?

The Boston sky is an interesting shade of mustard yellow,
and there's a pale orange haze where the sun should be.

Lisa, drowsily asleep-walked into the kitchen for her morning coffee.
'So this is Mars, ' I observed, 'Elon Musk will be so jealous.'
'Good, ' Lisa said, 'I was afraid it was nuclear winter.'
'There'll be no breathing today.' I updogged.

We could almost hear the slow, delicate pitter-patter fall of micro-ash.

'There's aaaa bright golden haze over Boston..' Lisa began to sing softly.
Lisa knows every Broadway score and can easily interpolate a song into every conversation.
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Webster: Interpolate: 'inserting something, like music into a conversation.'