Forecast (Poetry)

They didn’t tell the half of it —
light showers, a few days of sun
all things seasonal in turn
and balance in most years to come.

It started fine — we jogged along
and weathered all the skies could fling —
a spell of this, a squall of that
some hail and snow and lightning.

But air hangs heavy — thick with change
we tap the glass, the needle spins
no sign of moderation now
the rise in temperature begins...

It freezes or it boils and burns.
We shiver or we sweat our pain
and no one warned we’d have to cope
with so much unrelenting rain.

‘Pleasant’... ‘Nice’ — all in the past
the elements have gone to war
these few lulls in the fighting spent
missing balmy times before...

The seaweed flaps against the wall.
Out in the field the cows lie low.
Grey clouds pile round the morning’s edge
which tells us all we need to know.

The picture shown on fancy charts
is swamped with symbols once again —
for every region on the map
the outlook’s very much the same...

Depression! — East, South, North and West
while nature shows complete disdain.
The dam has burst and paper boats
won’t save us going down the drain.