The Weather Guy’s a Liar

“Partly cloudy”

doesn’t cut it.

The sky is in one hundred

thousand moods.

Saying it needs Zyprexa

would be meiosis.

Everything’s understated.

It’s pouring pups &

kittens when it’s not.

More like danes & seals.

Have you ever

heard its bark? Not the dog

I mean the seal—

underneath the Big

Top when the circus still

had creatures great &

small. Big is never

massive in Manhattan.

We’d look like Lilliputians 

down in London. Of course I mean

Kentucky. Its festival honours

the life of Colonel

Sanders. How he made it

past a corporal

I’ll never know. Raining

down the secrets

which are eleven

spices strong.

I’ve forgotten about the

bark. Sounds like

whooping cough.

Watch me pour some

Buckley’s against a

tree. Of course it’s under

the weather—who isn’t?

Waving its fecund fingers

in the gale. Thunder’s a

shocking way to

say hello. Talk about over-

kill.

As for me, I’ll be drenched

the very moment

that I furl in my umbrella

like a sail. Mischievous

miasmic cloud,

a boy who dams the

hose out in

the garden, releases his

pinching vise-grip

while you gaze into 

its chasm

like there’s nothing that

is coming down the pipe,

a rumble to mimic

hunger, or a thirst that’s

always teased and

seldom quenched.

Andreas Gripp

June 18, 2026

still from Weatherman starring Keegan-Michael Key

(director Joss Whedon)