the weather
If the sun
forgot
what time
to set,
it could ask
my grandma.
“The sun
will set
at 7:48.”
she proclaims
turning to me
away from the television.
The sun
better not
be late
nor early.
My grandma hates
the waste
of wait.
She is punctual,
as on-time
as news
casts casting
for viewers, floundering
for a lead. a hook. a bait
to attract
viewers
who need
the news,
or at least
something new.
At 5, 6,
and 9
the news
punctually
punctuates
my grandma’s day.
Without news
my grandma
would
waver,
not knowing
the weather.
“The high
will be
in the low 80’s”
she declares,
“and the low
will be
in the high 60’s.”
She sighs
every night
shakes
her head.
“They say
one thing
but the weather
does another.”
I nod.
Weather has
a mind
of its own.
I like that.
I am glad
weather men
will never
be weathered
by certainty.
I wonder
will age
surprise me
one day?
Will I
find
I
am in
my early 80’s?
As a sudden
storm
wrinkles
a clear day,
will I
know
I
am old?
I will
shake
my head
snap out
of myself
turn on
the television
for
I will
need
to know
the weather
tomorrow.
