The current threat level is
an abstractly arranged orange,
according to this not-so-human
voice squawking on behalf of
my all-too-human government.
It's for everyone's protection.
Outside the airport windows,
greater Baltimore squats against
Tuesday's sky, suspiciously solid
in its concrete pour of gray.
She's coy on when things might brighten
again. I'll have to wait with my bags,
unattended and unsure
whether old homes can ever feel
as homey. I make do pretending
someone has swapped those two colors.