In New England we stare up at gray,
see no individual clouds, call it
a snow sky. We say, looks like snow.
The forecasts call out exact times
for when it is supposed to start
and we stare out the window and say,
I think it’s coming early, let’s see
if they’ve got it this time. When we
catch sight of the first flakes, we judge
the weather reports and say, nailed it
or looks like they were wrong. The snow
itself could care less about commentary
as it falls. In the end, neither do we. We sit
on our couches and say, too early to go out
and clear the walk, or better get out there
before it gets too deep, or screw it, I’m going
nowhere it’s too damn cold. We stare at the
television as the snow comes down
regardless of our gaze. Welcome to New England,
we say. Don’t like the weather, wait a minute.
We laugh a bit, stare at screens and the sky, powerless
and resigned and judgmental to the end. Don’t like
the weather, why are you here? If you are one of us,
you will sit with us. If not, Florida awaits.