Another day, another weatherman
who has to kill himself for being wrong.
Have we maybe taken honour too far?
Or is the only thing that’s gone too far
the promise of rain? Cyclone Disappointment:
it broke the hearts of those uncomplaining farmers
who’d ransomed every tractor tyre and dollar
and seed to a wet future when it missed.
They say you can’t have honour without water,
and wheat-flour is the daughter of the rain,
and she and all her train have been insulted—
forgotten and defied and then gaslighted!
In all the aeons of time, they’ve never knighted
a meteorologist who wasn’t meant
to fall spectacularly. A flashing dazzle,
sincere apology, a public death,
and words exchanged about the sacrifice
by the lower-downs and the higher-ups.
Count the seconds between the lightning and the hush.
Society is a cult.