Screaming Juice

Time is divided into tasks,

sectioned like an orange,

each section with seeds,

tiny beginnings for tomorrow's chores

within a thin membrane.

I swallow slice after slice,

carefully, methodically,

putting aside the pips

until I get home.

At home, the membraned sections

each have a life of their own,

screaming juice into the air

and spewing seeds everywhere,

taking root and sprouting violently before my eyes

as I stand, stunned,

covered in sticky orange tears and pulp.