Oranges

(Inspired by Jean Little’s poem, “Oranges”, as seen in notes).…the undying silence felt like ants gnawing at Mikey’s veins, skittering around hungrily. It made him squirm in anticipation for something, anything to happen.But it never did.So he found himself crouched down on the weathered porch, prodding at the chips of paint that flaked off the wood. He could subtly feel the sharp splints of loose slivers digging into his knees. The brisk wind licked against his scales, providing him a teaspoon of comfort from the desolated air…OR: Mikey goes to the porch to think, and Leo joins him.