Through ceiling scaffolds, lines of light fluoresce
their distant buzzing. Sentry black globe-eyes
patrol the ordered pretense of largesse,
a city built of landscaped merchandise
I gather with the swarms. We look for buys,
which piece by piece move from that world to ours.
Outside, a full rebellion in the skies
shapes the darker clouds to giant towers
reflecting embers of the sun's last blaze.
Its blood-orange, yanked by wind-waves' swift riptide,
now gilds our plastic bags with piercing rays.
Mesmerized, I leave my cart to glide
across the lot with my forgotten things,
a dazzled wasp who neither flies nor stings.
Siham Karami lives in Northwest Florida, where she owns a technology recycling company. Her poetry has been published in a number of venues, including Innisfree Journal, The Lavender Review, 14by14, The Whirlwind Review, 4and20 Poetry, and Sisters magazine.