accumulating snow, winds gusting over 40 mph,
winter isn’t done with us yet
weatherman wetting his pants;
his nor’easter powerful gale force coastal flooding!
forcing you and fellow short-term survivalists
from cozy burrow to bedlam supermarket
reeking of wet wool.
snow starts, spits and fits
then slow fat flakes up-tempo to
nothing.
above, the taunt of birdsong, brightening sky.
again you have fallen for
slippery channel 8 huckster,
now grinning something about a dodged bullet.
your father would call meteorology an inexact science
but you, cynical, sees a bait and switch. wait
did he say possible thundersnow?
the chain comes off. eyes slavering, the weatherman’s
mouth twists;
you snap him off before he cries wolf.