Weather Girl
She’s perky.
The wind churns through sparrows;
death strikes with its usual toothy banality.
Windows are blown out,
hurricanes fart blood.
The weather girl flaps her arms,
pushes nipples into the camera,
winks.
Tears will be shed somewhere,
but for now
we smile, we nod
eye on a different focus.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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