The Falsest Forecast

Mark’s bold forecasts were greeted with doubt One of his hearers braving “Get out!” Not just saying it: An exploded shout! He’d seen, Mark with a bottle of stout, A celebrant’s gulp and a drunk’s pout… “Drunkard, no plant does well in harsh drought, Just as no laborer with a gout.” But - God! - What force had made him come out! Hunger for the fame gods talk about As things all men could do without, Warning that taking it far rules flout And whoever does “Consummate lout… Ben Mark who would other’s views tout, Letting his lips take on a pig’s snout. He had the forecast heard from a scout And now must beat others in a bout… Some folk is ready for own forecast, The farmers present for its broadcast About Ben Mark he could still clout For wanting to farms hurt and yield rout: “This week, Mark shall be an outcast On Earth as forecaster miscast.”