You Don't Need a Weatherman ...

Subterranean Homesick Blues

Side 1, Track 1

You don’t need a weather man to know which way the wind blows

Months before an unrepentant con man, likely a pathological liar, would be sworn in by his shady cronies in Congress, I had clipped the winterberry holly,

seeded the tiny yard, laid down a curving

brick path around the sago palm,

and for a few sunny moments, weary,

contented in my skin, I sat on the side

porch in a white wicker chair, late

afternoon blue sky orange sun behind

the elementary school, a glass of red wine

on the table, small reward for tending

my own meager garden in this narrowing

life, Spanish moss swaying from a live

oak, Mike tossing a stick for sweet Rosie

in the field across the way, and though

the chipper Channel 22 meteorologist

had promised a beautiful weekend ahead,

from this easy perch, I could not not see

black wall clouds forming on the horizon,

a blizzard of fair-weather patriots

swirling in the eye of cyclonic Lucifers

storming beaches at high tide, under-

mining foundations, roofs flying off

in damnable funnel clouds, tsunamis

of lies driving good souls underground

peering through cracked glass, darkly

despairing, praying for a warm front

of honor and human decency

to show up again on the radar.

—SL, Port Royal, SC, January, 2023