Weather And Other Maps Poem by J. Barrett Wolf

I get in one last, quick ride
Before the hinting tumult of clouds coalesce
Into the thunder light show and
Bucket cat dog pianos of rain.

I urge past impending corn fields, earth brown
recently tilled turning to face sun and receive the seed
Or green with grasses and yellow flowers
Like the thirteen and a half millionth dandelion
Passed on the way to Windsor.

Consider the asphalt tongue of the future.
It grins and swallows me into the miles and the days
Inches unremembered, though towns and times and faces
Never to be forgotten
Except the ones I did, until somebody says,
“Ya remember when we…? ” And mostly I do.

Shadows disappear as the furl of overcast advances.

We are always paradox
Holding conflicting thoughts
Making choices as if we could know where they lead
There is no Mapquest for a way to live
No locator beacon in case of emergency
That will sort out the correct direction
Away from the storm.
Away from the dark.
Toward the love and home and picket damn fence
Someone to come in from the road to,
When we are caught off guard
And take the thunder lightning hit.

There is only so much we can predict.
Bet a trip into town on the weather map
Take the bike because the thrum of exhaust
And the thrum of rain will not intersect today.

But that is the trouble with weather, isn’t it?
Knowing it isn’t going to rain…

This time.