Fever

I tossed the oranges to the bottom of the yard

They had a weird taste

I forgot about them

Then I saw them

Orange mushrooms

They stole the bright color

And turned it into an abomination

They dripped with putridity

I smashed them to pieces

I forgot about them

Later, the glint of gold

The smell, worse this time

In my nose, all day, in everything

I smashed them, five times, maybe more

I stopped opening the blinds

I can’t explain why I was afraid

Of half-alive orange honeycombs

When I was better, I dug them up

Filled two bags with their infected soil

Tossed in the garbage

They haven’t returned

I sometimes see orange

Fallen satsumas — benign

I’m still afraid.