Orange Light
Content Note: Public scrutiny, caregiving, and assumption.
Night.
Out on my porch.
The orange glow from the streetlights
Flickers through a deep blue hue.
Looking down, I catch myself fiddling—
Winding the ties of a recycled plastic shopping bag clutched in my hand.
I wonder why streetlights are orange.
Do they mimic the "slow down to stop" orange of a traffic light?
I'm dawdling.
I must hurry—
Deposit this bag and its contents in the rubbish bin under the orange light.
"You dropped your bag."
Zone in fast. Orange to green, so to speak.
I focus.
Someone stands in the orange glow.
We both stare down at the soiled nappies,
Spilling from a tear in the bag.
"How old?" A jovial jest.
They're guessing the age of the nappy wearer.
"Twenty-four," I reply.
"Aww, twenty-four months?" they ask.
"No... twenty-four years."
Red means stop, then.
