At last the Weather Bureau has made the most unusual admission that the recent sudden burst of cold weather is "unexpected and exceedingly unusual."
At last the weather man has been Shaken from out his mood serene; And I, who longed to see surprise Leap to those caLm, prophetic eyes, Rejoice at last a flaw to see In his infallibility. For now I own this haughty touch Of cool aplomb annoyed me much. To see him sitting there so still While wind and weather worked their will On lesser mortals, stricken sore, Made me feel most inferior. "Nothing unusual," he'd say, When on some strange November day Hail, snow and sleet began to fall. "Nothing unusual at all." And, as the chill blast froze and bit, He'd lisp, "Oh, I expected it." Or, mayhap, on some night in June, Something would happen in the moon Or sun, or mid the unfixed stars That upset all his isobars With sudden heat. Was he perturbed? "Old stuff," he'd murmur, undisturbed. Often, I own, have I been beat By summer cold or winter heat; But when I sought him in his lair He humbled me with his sure air. "Record?" he'd laugh. "Why, man alive, 'Twas just like this in eighty-five." And now the words I hoped would fall - "Exceedingly unusual" - Drop from his lips, and I'm content To know him not omnipotent. For once, at least, he's missed the bus; He's human, like the rest of us.
This poem was also published in the collection:
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002-05|