Weather Girl
Roof shingles
are tossed like confetti in a Banshee wind.
She says it's going to be a bad weather day,
the green screen behind her wobbles
as a gust of torrential hailstones
rocks the studio,
yet her smile stays bright and perky.
The wind keeps churning through sparrows
and shattering windows. Tornados
spring up out of nowhere,
devastate homes, then ravish cows
as an afterthought.
Through a plasma screen
the attractive lady distracts my eyes,
She grins knowingly
I grin back, as we share a moment,
elsewhere, death strikes randomly
with a made for TV toothy banality.
Storms of platitudes continue to numb
and transfix.
I don't know why some must die
and others must keep watching.
I can only predict
that the weather girls will survive
to keep us informed
even as our living rooms implode.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
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