Speaking of Oranges

As I recall, it was the lack of completion
needless really in so much other
retro-fit to some 35 years
Back when blondes were real
and pubic hair was a private matter

Always enroute, washing up, simmering
for one's silent retreat
we are all missed, in a way
and then forgotten, put in boxes
above ephemera, flannel pajams, old sneakers
red lipstick from a dead grandmother
smelling of Camel lights and 1950

They are smashing windows
heaving lives from a third story
omniscient narrator somehow knowing less
private a dirty word; only he and I know
these ghosts a silly metaphor

I am confessional
like so much 1970s lactation
circle club exchanging diazepam