A splash of sunshine on a wooden floor,
a leafless tree with sparrows on its limbs,
a cloud-white teasing sky that should hold more
of rain for us, but winter storms are flim-
sy here – so far this year the weather’s dry,
and out of season burns the coastal range.
For these are times when stupid rulers fry
our culture, and then too, the climate’s strange.
We flip from wry amusement to disgust,
compiling irony from cable news,
complaining waning like we might adjust
to barbarous behavior. Don’t accuse
the weather of a plot against our glee,
but let’s impede today’s plutocracy.