Imagine for a moment that the weather is a ******

She is bored as she peels off the chipping paint on my window
and with eyebrow raised flicks the pieces at my bed
(the same bed I am lying on)

I hear the woosh and flutter of her dress
as she parades and struts around.
She is purposely blowing cigarette smoke to my face
like a high and mighty *****
with painted lips and black stockings.

I pay her no heed

She screams and ruffles the trees for attention
flinging branches and leaves in a fit
she speaks and her spit hits my eyes in little droplets.

Her heavy breathing
and banging of doors and windows
is becoming a little too dramatic

I close the window again,
I've closed it a million times
and with her dainty fingers she pries it open to peek

she sulks in a corner
eyeing me crossly
annoyed at my reading
my writing
my contemplation

and true to her nature

          she does it all again...