Don’t know whether to wear my gloves
or grab the cobalt umbrella
with its one bent, awkward arm.
I’ll get wet, but maybe it’s one of those dry wets.
If the temp were ten degrees cooler,
every question would have an answer
rather than another question:
should I stay home? risk it for a quick trip to the store?
The meteorologist mocks & prattles,
goofing like an Auguste clown.
I think it’s funny we never see his shoes.
About the Author: Ace Boggess is author of five books of poetry—Misadventure, I Have Lost the Art of Dreaming It So, Ultra Deep Field, The Prisoners, and The Beautiful Girl Whose Wish Was Not Fulfilled—and the novels States of Mercy and A Song Without a Melody. His writing has appeared in Harvard Review, Notre Dame Review, Mid-American Review, Rattle, River Styx, and many other journals. He received a fellowship from the West Virginia Commission on the Arts and spent five years in a West Virginia prison. He lives in Charleston, West Virginia. His sixth collection, Escape Envy, is forthcoming from Brick Road Poetry Press in 2021.
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Image Credit: “Unidentified man with umbrella standing in street with building in background” (1921) The Library of Congress