Kate Kobosko

Bathroom Break, I-95

In this off-the-highway 
orange world of honeybells 
and tangelos, it smells as if 
they’re pumping orange
juice from the groaning air
conditioning. Employees
wear smocks over their loud 
floral shirts. Sun hats flop 
when they walk, when they ask 
y’all finding everything alright? 

Everything is tinged bright 
in trademark sunshine. 
In the back, behind sliding 
doors, a concrete bowl fills 
with hose water. Reptiles sun 
themselves on patched 
grass, silver fencing stacked 
high around them. I watch 
a boy press against the metal,
poke his citrus fingers 
in the chain links. He calls 
out to the gators. One shifts
its leather feet, unhinges 
its long muscled jaw. 

A swamp fills inside 
me, rises to my throat. 
How lonely they both
seem—how long 
they will be waiting 
for something, anything, 
to happen.

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Kate Kobosko is a writer and educator currently based in South Carolina. She holds an MFA from Emerson College. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in autofocus, Humana Obscura, Saltbush Review, The Crawfish and others. Most days you can find her on the porch reading a good book beside her cat, Gator. You can find more of her work at katekobosko.com.