The Wobbly Weather Woman
The woman with liquor in her speaks to us softly and constantly as we walk past,
something about a weather change.
"That's what I heard," she says. "That's what I heard."
Wary of statistics and her clutching words,
I cast mine over my shoulder like cheap bits of glass.
You, on the other hand, with my fingers in tow,
hang back for more in depth predictions.
"Gonna drop 40 degrees," she says. "That's what I heard."
Ten blocks of darkened streets at midnight,
with less than a block from the safety of your home,
has left me gasping for the warmth of your room.
You have breath enough to speak kindly to a wobbly weather woman.
While I am still a man who is reluctant to leave the womb.
October 6, 2001