Weather Girl
Satellite dishes are blown apart
in the wind.
She says it's going to be a bad weather day,
but her smile is bright and perky.
The wind keeps churning through sparrows,
and shingles.
On a plasma screen
death strikes us with a toothy banality.
The weather girl is now flapping her arms,
like a goose
being sucked through a funnel cloud
of ever widening platitudes.
I don't know why, but
I keep watching her.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
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