Making the Weather

Billowing clouds, then more clouds
shaped like lambs, ponies and bunnies . . .
one resembles my Auntie Rue's face,
and another, our TV weather girl's hairdo
that takes on the form of cumulus congestus
with fluffy layers of curls piled on top
of each other. They suggest windy
conditions, but that girl seems
a bit too tail-heavy to soar.

By afternoon, a cumulus arcus cloud
rolls over the alternate weather person’s
face, indicating potential rainy turbulences.
But that fellow looks like a used car salesman;
why should I trust him . . . I want the weather,
not a 1948 Studebaker.

I pay little attention to those weather
prophets but choose to be guided
by telling aches in my hands
and most joints in my body,
all suggesting a change in weather.

Is it going to rain--or am I going
to be just plain crabby? I must rely
on my internal barometer. Ah—great!
Now my ears buzz and pop—
one ear forecasts rising humidity,
the onset of the monsoon—
the other ear--plain crabbiness.