Weather

* weather *
The distant rattle of rain on tin
Sounds like Soweto rioting
And the weather is a carnival
Of lightning and rolling thunder
Admission having been paid into this day
We have the weather performing
Showing all its many guises
One moment shaping to drench us
The next in crisp riposte to fry us
Clouds scuttle on and off the sky stage
As rapidly as cockroaches when light is on
However every plot twist weather rights
Frustrates us more and shows us clearly
In the weather we have no rights
Insignificant animals on a landscape
Over which weather claims domain
We are to be tortured wet or dry or blown over
Until to weather's might we surrender
Leave the battlefield and scurry away
Back to our holes defeated
Mistreated by this weather
Which when it plays a fairer fellow
Could be taken for a steadfast friend
Not this moustache curling cad
Possessing morals of a corrupt preacher
Who would as soon sell us out
As consume a drink of tea
Or finish off some hot dinner.