A Feral Orange Grove in Sarasota

Winter in Sarasota by Nick Vagnoni

When sacks of oranges showed up
in my Miami Publix
I thought of Sarasota:
          On my way to the supermarket at night
          my windows up
          against the burnt-piss smell
          that drifts down from the Tropicana plant,
          the smell that actually turns orange in the fog
          lit by the glow of the airport.
          Stepping out of my car
          into the cold, sparkling parking lot,
          that odor, replaced by the feral orange grove
          blooming across the highway—
          the last dusty rows, thick with man-tall weeds,
          girded by new condos, a medical center,
          a retention pond.