Duvet Day Poem by Marieta Maglas

It was a Dancy tangerine,
a leaf, or a kid-glove orange
that had fallen from the tree.

I failed to notice it. I was learning
to swing in a way that left me
in need of my hopeless optimism
while watching a dance of rage
on TV. There was no change.

A drunk driver outside
who was wearing orange
driving gloves with a
zipper skin swerved sharply
and struck my old, gnarled tree
while infusing my ears
with a sexual innuendo.

He was unable to avoid
his embarrassing mishap.
I understood much later that
the dance of Saint Vitus
had caused him pain.
His soul's wounds were eventually
too deep for anyone to mend.

I was eager for this Duvet day to be over.

Poem by Marieta Maglas