Weather Report by Sharon Preiss
In the year of our lord, zip code 12198, in the summer
Of abstract art, I wrote a book. It read like this:
Her name is Nina, her name is Sandra, his name is Lane.
They dislike each other equally under the same roof.
C’est la vie.
At least it’s a roof.
And god said, “Let it be 48°,” and it was so.
And god said, “Let it be 91°,” and it was done.
And god said, “Let it all happen in a 24 hour span,”
And Upstate New York was born.
And god saw the people grumble, but he let it go,
Because, for crying out loud, it’s only weather.
Did the hate grow deeper that summer?
Did Rothko and Calder and Nevelson learn to live side by side?
Did the people come to blows?
Do we really love New York?
Which roof and which zip code should we live under?