An Orange Day

It’s an orange day so of course
I’m wearing blue—Don’t laugh;
I swear I awoke to the scent
Of acidic citrus, I thought it would
Burn through my tongue, my skin
Float through the air into my sinuses, my pores
So I got my gloves, and the complement cancelled it out
As always. No, you’re laughing, but
I can see how the orange permeates
Even you, even the floor, even that painting, Lord
I swear the man’s shirt was purple yesterday
And now it’s red. They always try to paint me.
Yesterday it was chartreuse—I wore red,
And before that, on a day of white vacuum,
Black gloves held me anchored, safe from fading
But gloves, you ask? Well,
Covering every inch of skin would be
Ludicrous, I’m not an astronaut.
But here’s the secret: If you wear the gloves, then
When the color touches you, you
Can touch it back. It is repulsed, repelled
I stroked the orange air and it ran from me.
Ha! But I saw a man wearing orange gloves today
And I’m sure when the orange invades his every orifice
He caresses it back like a lover.