Dear Weatherman

I turn the nozzle of the hose, but no water comes out.

I turn it more.
I quit and turn it the other way.
I turn it all the way
until it hurts my hand.
That doesn’t work either.
I stare at its mouth and pretended I’m being splashed.
I hold it over my roses and pretend again.

My roses are sick.
I don’t know the last time I fed them.
I don’t want to remember
because it’ll make me feel sick too.
I tell them I’m sorry.

I drop the hose.
And myself to the ground.
I let my face fall on my roses.
I am sad,
And now I can water them myself.

I hope it rains tomorrow.