Applies to Oranges is part escapist fantasy, part deadpan breakup book. Recurring images suggestive of private meaning — oranges, spiders, Zenith televisions — dip in and out, providing pulse while allowing the poet to effectively lament her loss. The title suggests the casual irony and wry wit with which the poet delivers every poem in her project. Don’t pity me, she seems to say, but acknowledge how ridiculous the whole picture is: people, food, televisions, relationships, breaking them.
