Weather Report

Cloudy today

The weatherman would say

Of me

Of my mind

Clouded haze

Foggy thoughts

Like wading through the humid day

When

It’s supposed to rain

From all accounts

But the clouds

Are huffy

And say

They’ll take the 12%

Chance of a light breeze from the nothwest

Chance of seeing someone you like

Chance of meatballs

For dinner

(for eight hundred, Alex)

It might clear up tomorrow

He’d continue,

Scratching an itch on his neck

Smiling for the cameras

Because there are people watching

Always watching

And they rely

On the weatherman

To predict

To announce

To call

With accuracy

It might

He says again, looking less certain

With every word

It might

It might be sunny, with bright

Wisps of white

Glossing across the cerulean sky

Wouldn’t that be nice?

And a warm

Breeze

And

Who knows?

Really

After all

There must be showers

Before the roses bloom

After all

He repeats

Looking to the left

Stage right

Where the rain

Is not planning to fall

Not yet

Not today

Not yet

And the whole

The whole of it

Whole comedic

Scene is trapped

In limbo

(like the space

Before a bathroom

Where there is no bathroom

Sink

Mirror

Too sheltered to loiter

Too exposed to cry

Which serves no purpose

In the grand scheme)

In my mind

But that’s all there is sometimes

Cloud

Haze

Fog

With the promise

Of sunshine

Tomorrow

(Or just

tomorrow)