We’d have to shut the windows in the night. Wait through five days
of bad weather. You in a silk dress, hibiscus flower print
would whisper, “Extreme weather is peculiar by nature,”
as we dined on fish, chips, a cup o’ tea and waited for the worse.
The worse at times never coming at all, just Johnny Weatherman
being over cautious as some bore grudges over miscalculations
and relieved we’d venture out, you in your silk dress, swishing
by your centuries old neighbor, the one who’d seen corals come back
from the dead and a monsoon that rained real cats and dogs curious folk
came from miles to take pictures, buy great t-shirts that made good souvenirs.
We’d try to pass unseen, but always caught his eye and he’d take a step
out and stand on his front porch, chest puffed, showing off his custom-made t-shirt:
THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS BAD WEATHER, ONLY UNSUITABLE CLOTHING
Tiffany Sciacca is a poet who has recently moved to Sicily from the Midwest. She loves Greek Mythology and Vintage recipes. Tiffany’s work has appeared in the Silver Birch Press. When she is not tripping over new words or avoiding curious stares, she reads horror anthologies, watches Nordic Noir, and of course, writes poetry.