Weather Report

original poem from franklin avenue

Weather Report

the lemons are blue when i arrive home

and so is everything else.

the neighbor demands i bring in her packages

and although she’s rude about it

i feel altruistic when i obey.

the rejections this year have been thoughtful

which my manager brags about.

i believe her that it matters.

the most prescient acting advice is

don’t want it too much

which feel misogynistic to me

but we’re all bored of that.

i’ve read 62 plays in the last quarter.

my favorite one is a farce in which

day never breaks again.

nightfruit in perpetuity.

i’d like to put it on but the company thinks

it’s too real.

diet pills and diet shots are scientifically good for you now and disordered eating is no longer a disease it is impressive.

which is fine, really.

i hate wind as weather but i love wind as a concept and an orchestral section.

there’s a movie about child soldiers in columbia and all i remember is the oboe sounding score that is actually the composer blowing into glass bottles.

her name sounds like mine.

my most talented friend

is super fucking mean

and my most successful friend

is super fucking judgey

my most beautiful friend

is super fucking scared

but the lemons are yellow this morning

and my dearest friend texts me about what she calls a capital C crash out and i tell her im proud of her and i wish we were elsewhere in time and space

laughing.