Mike Crowl's Poems in Process

Weather Report

by Mike Crowl

Never mind that the North Island's centre is frozen, iced and brutal, Or that Kaitaia, which is in the tropics anyway, is constantly fine and has no excuse to be otherwise; Or that Auckland's rains flood in all seasons, Or that Wellington's swept off the map with gusts, and winds whose rate of knots exceeds the speed of Auckland traffic by several decimal places of pi, Or that the Garden City's smog smudges breath, homes, faces, windscreens, with a grey and pernicious smuttiness... Always, always, in the Deep South according to the (fair)-weathermen and -women ensconced behind the Great Bombay Wall of Hills, its: 'Snow,' preferably down to 200 metres.

This poem was written in irritation at the seeming bias towards the South Island that appears in the TV weather forecasts. Of course I'm not paranoid (!)  It still needs some work.

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