rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Overcast

Today we got cirrus clouds that gradually thickened, and now they are providing us with a lurid red sunset. The bad news is that the clouds are going to go on thickening, and by tomorrow there could be an electrical storm, but if there is rain it probably won't arrive until Tuesday. A fire weather warning has been issued for the region by the National Weather Service. The conditions will prevail from Monday through Wednesday, and there could be lots of lightning strikes.

Well, living in this place has always been a gamble. It's bound to burn down eventually, but I must say it will be damned inconvenient for me if hot embers start raining down this week. I still haven't gotten those leaves cleaned up, for one thing. It's just been too hot for raking. The rain gutters need cleaned out, too. They are a considerable fire hazard when they are full of dry leaves. I suppose I'll have to try to get the gutters cleaned out tomorrow morning. It's too late to do it tonight, even with a half moon shining.

Aside from the impending potential disaster, the clouds are going to moderate the temperature a little bit. The high might be a mere 82 degrees on Tuesday. Of course it could be a rainy 82 degrees, and that means there could be steam rising from the rooftops. How will I tell the steam from smoke?

Just when I thought this summer couldn't get any worse. Crap.




Sunday Verse



Reno


by Jeffrey McDaniel


You are the quirky little sister of Las Vegas
that never finished high school, with your Kurt

Cobain slot machine, where instead of apples
and oranges, different brands of pharmaceuticals

revolve in Kurt's head. A pair of valiums
doubles your bet, but three shotgun shells

is the big pay-off. Reno, your pawn shops
are loaded with prosthetic limbs and wedding rings.

One night a lucky bastard cackled down your strip,
chucking twenty-five dollar chips over his collar,

then dumped the whole six thousand in the river
just to watch the panhandlers plunge.

When the moon's right, their femurs still glitter
like rods of gold. I could stay here forever,

whispering the details of the life I left behind
to the blackjack dealer who flicks me my future

one card at a time. The Jack & Gingers stack up
like a glass chimney, as the losers are hauled out

on gurneys, howling for one last chance. Lady
Luck whips out a hag wrench, prying my smile off

one nerve ending at a time, and I wander
the desert at dawn, like a general returning

to his senses after bombing his own people,
muttering My God, what have I done?

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