Self Portrait as the Local Weatherman

March 22, 2011 § 1 Comment

I

I walk to my closet, push
the little button on my tie spinner
and sort of hypnotize myself staring
at the assorted spots and stripes, the strained
mechanical whir, vibrant colors stripped
of any meaning.

Sometimes I don’t know where I’m pointing
on the green screen. I just make wide
generalized circular motions. If I’m wrong,
I’m the weatherman. If I’m right, I’m forgotten.

I’m just a face to blame
even though I’m pretty sure
people can figure out if it’s raining
or it’s going to. Doesn’t everyone know
that smell, the wind change?

II

Aquanet won’t hold up in a hurricane
but for a little light rain,
and everything in between, it’ll do.

I’ve become something of an expert
on hairsprays and pomades. Respect
comes from a little pot of sleek,
smooth, sophistication.
Hair that holds under
wicked situations.

I wanted to be a game show host.

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