Forecast

It’s been in the eighties the last seven days

Plants have sprouted up, leaves are budding out

Temps dropped like the snow melted, swift

It rained today,

forecasting six inches of snow tomorrow

They muttered passing in the lobby,

it’s not going to happen, tell me it’s not going to happen,

no, it will rain, nothing will stick

The forecast will change, it will change

The rain will come soft and sweet,

the air will be pungent of muddy wet earth, crisp in its grasp

Then the snow will come,

wet sticky heavy mess

Fat flakes like feathers will fall,

our denial will fade, as, it was in the forecast