small talk
"If it doesn't snow soon
this summer will be all smoke",
we say and say
again,
this small talk
serving as some
mass recitation,
the human organism
calibrating itself through
every mouth until
the words ring true from
each body.
"Yes, this summer..."
I'll say it too. I don't care
to know any different. What good
would it be? Acting the prophet.
I have better things to do. I
have secrets.