Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The Weather Man

by Jim Rapp

The weather man is wrong again.
I have to say, I like it when
His prophecies of weather, coming in,
Veer off to left or right, and then
He’s forced, the next day, to pretend
He didn’t say just what, or where, or when.

And once again he waves his hand
Across the screen and spreads a band
Of weathered days that he’ll command;
Five days, or seven, and by slight-of-hand
Each sure as sure to send the land
The rain, or snow, or drought his prophecy demands.

But every day I tune him in again,
Because – I say – I like it when
His prophecies of weather, coming in,
Veer off to left or right, and then
I smugly smile, at his vain sin,
Look heavenward, and thank The Weather Man.

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