Oranges

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The sun shines on the red rock
As I drive down the steaming highway,
Away from the home I’ve always known.
Where seatbelts burn your hands,
And school is outside,
Where tan hands pick oranges off of backyard trees,
And lizards line our porch.
Driving to a place,
Where the skies go dark at three
And you can’t hang your laundry out to dry,
Where rabbits have short ears,
And pale hands buy oranges from the grocery store.






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