WEATHERMEN

IMG_2329

 

Time for a shower,
a quarter, a tenth.

I have the next rain
at my fingertips—
                    the hunt and peck,
                    scroll of percentiles
                    dialed-in
                    hour by hour
of the good stuff I want—
that naked clay needs
to stay alive.

Nothing’s changed.
We all hang on a forecast—
                    cuss the messenger
                    who gets paid
                    when he’s wrong
                    or claims he’s right.
It is our nature
where a man’s word
is everything.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s