WEATHER REPORT

I saw her once again the other day, Arrayed in clothes the colors of the rainbow. No longer does she wear those colors of the road, Those amber hues And acid blues that asphalt turns When mirrored by the moon. Our meeting in a doorway Was circumspect and brief, Speaking brightly, lightly, Selling surface as belief. The overcast was dark that day, Weathermen spoke of snow. Her heart was like that rainbow, Not what I used to know. rcs. ©1981 Ronald C. Southern