Tyre tracks that lack definition
a premonition
a danger
for the lone desert ranger.

Oranges,
I peel them like grapes into indistinct shapes
and the sweet of them roll off my tongue.

In the tracks looking back where there's nothing but dust
just as I knew that there'd be
the thought and the smell of these fruits give me hell,
I wish that I'd stayed out at sea.

I switch on the TV to watch serial killers being murdered, it's realistic though untrue and I sit through several commercials for powders that wash whiter although not on black socks.

Rocks in my head
oranges in bed
and dust in my eyes
a plate of fries for my tea (advertised on TV)
and each day
it's the same thing for me.