By Annette Marie Hyder

Green parasols,
in the banana sunshine,
are the trees that line the citrus aisles
of Florida's orange groves.

The cows flutter Maybelline lashes,
admire pride of hide and hooves
and moo — trying to whisper — low.

Scrub-brushes pant in the bright heat and dust
and a mischievous breeze shakes those
plants like they're tails on the bottoms of dogs
happy to see us home.

And the rain when it falls
makes it good and wet
for the oranges and the cows and the scrub.

Everything shines like a brand new coin
just waiting to get spent.