Weather Man

When it snows, he stands
at the back door or wanders
around the house to each
window in turn and
watches the weather
like a lover. O farm boy,
I waited years
for you to look at me
that way. Now we’re old
enough to stop waiting
for random looks or touches
or words, so I find myself
watching you watching
the weather, and we wait
together to discover
whatever the sky might bring.



Poem copyright ©2015 by Patricia Traxler, “Weather Man.” Poem reprinted by permission of Patricia Traxler.
More Poems by Patricia Traxler