Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Cobolt [Ten Poems]

An Orange Hidden Under a Milky White Towel

On afternoons when I went to the barber as a child with the round, white sun glazing tangled streets, reflected in the mirrors of cars half hopped on curbs, even the façades were rendered bearable on blocks skirting the working class neighborhood an orange hidden under a milky white towel is the way I feel every time I recognize the smell of cheap lotion on skin in the strange familiarity of salons bathed in unnatural light.

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