Her there
is not his there
is not your there

where a lone tangerine
has come to a full stop
against a street lamp

a few feet
from a pile of dead leaves
and other organic matter.

In there, you see
a detached squirrel
tail you don’t have

the guts to study
up close. You keep
walking and continue

the conversation you’ve begun
having with yourself
under your breath

about the color orange.
You won’t mention tacos
or papayas when you reply.