follow the orange cones


by warren jones

such a night
standing in the orchard
surrounded by red and green apples that were resigned to believing
in reincarnation because it made their sacrifice seem more worthy

and tractors that stood silently wondering
will anyone come over and ask us our story?
we are the ones who have been working all day

the moon came out before darkness
and reminded us that not long ago it had blocked out the entire sun
and the light had to take backroads to visit
and we were all better for it

a dog named griz laid next to the ice troughs
every once and a while she would hold her head up over the edge
as if we had been wrong all the time and it was actually cold air that rises…
but still
we envied her

the kids drove the stand still four wheeler over to look
at the donkey while the rest of us stayed and swatted flies
i’m a wanderer the donkey said
but we’ll never know for sure
because electric fences have a way of stifling conversation

and this is the way the afternoon and the evening and the night went
stories and gin
and stories and campari
and stories and vermouth
and stories and hard cider
and turkish dishes i never really did get the name of…
but hell
they were delicious

and at the end of the night i’d give thanks for each variety if i knew all their names
and then i drove home sobered
because my eyes developed images
and my soul drank medicine

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