Weather Man by Brian Beatty

My folding chair’s

bare aluminum skeleton nests the next day

like the remains of a giant broken bird

in the top of a neighbor’s tree.


Amazed, ashamed gawkers stop

to say the shredded webbing strewn everywhere

tells all the story they need to hear:


I failed to sit out yet another storm —

to mind my own business, the alarms. Do I not have ears?


I quietly shake rain off fallen limbs.

Brian Beatty
Brian Beatty

Brian Beatty is the author of two recent poetry collections, Brazil, Indiana (Kelsay Books, 2017) and Coyotes I Couldn’t See (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2016). His writing has also been featured in public art projects and on public radio. He lives in St. Paul, Minnesota.