Snowmageddon
Nov 10 2021
They've taken to naming weather.
Hurricanes, of course,
but also blizzard, wind storm, hail.
And we watch calamity unfold,
eyes glued to the screen
snacks close at hand,
as intrepid reporters, wind-whipped and soaked
shout over the cacophony.
We are weather junkies
disaster voyeurs.
Is this because we are awed
at the power of nature?
That this is a healthy way
to appreciate our good fortune,
high and dry
in the comfort of home
under warm sunny skies?
Or that we've become so jaded
by special effects
and violence on screen
that we need authenticity
to feel?
Perhaps even take pleasure
in the suffering of others
far enough away?
A storm is coming
winter's first.
No name,
just rain and snow
and icy roads
and a chance of power failing.
A disaster movie
coming soon
to our own backyard.
Cue the music
as we stand by the window and watch,
looking out
through a clear glass screen
as we've become so routinely accustomed.
Who would have imagined that an entire channel devoted to weather would have been a success. Apparently, there are a lot of people fascinated by weather: weather junkies, disaster voyeurs.
In order to gin up interest, the broadcasters taken to giving storms dramatic sensationalized names. The official weather service has also gotten in on the act, but constrained themselves to a pre-approved list of proper names, similar to hurricane nomenclature.
They're forecasting a storm as I write this. The anticipation is an unsettling combination of excitement, low-level dread, and a feeling of imperviousness. Impervious not only because of modern technology, but because of our own feeling that we are exempt from misfortune; that we can safely watch, even when it's happening here.
More deeply, the poem gets at our alienation from nature: watching on screens; watching from behind glass; viewing ourselves not as part of nature, but apart from it.
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