Sunday, February 19, 2012


Editor's note: Grandpa used to predict the upcoming weather by his rheumatism, and he was no slouch at it," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem.

In this age of specializing,
Titles take a high-flown twist;
Every weather prophet now
Is a meteorologist!

With all their fancy gadgets,
And computerized technique,
They figure out a schedule
Of our weather for a week.

It often doesn't happen
Very close to how they list it,
But they won't say a single word
Admitting how they missed it!

If they can't guess correctly
For tomorrow, tell me how
We can take and trust their word
It will rain a week from now!

And, even more no-brainy,
Every now and then we hear
Some silly nut forecasting
For the entire coming year.

Sure, I could do no better,
But I hope you realize
A Monday morning quarterback
Has a right to criticize!

--Eighty After Eighty (1995)

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