El Nino

Poem By MICHAEL ROLOFF

El Niño has let us down, he’ill get a spanking, something only El Niña would like...

Weather Poem # 2: Puget Sound regarded as a large sink and Seattle as the drainage pit… [revised]
As a sink with slides open to all sides of the North Pacific...
like a harvester, voracious for rain… an inverted dowsing rod…
as that for dirty dishes on dish-wash duty...
dishes marching in regular formations on the conveyor belt...
the storms and their counter-clockwise swirl that seem to drive march in chiefly from the southwest while an overall west to east prevails

sometimes from all directions, destination Pudgy sound, Seattle postmarked Aleutians, Hawai, Tokyo
predictably unpredictable except
where the final deposit will be made: Seattle.
#
The wildly gyrating jet stream of the 'Northsoutheastwest' sire...
that sires oh how that sire sires..

#
It takes many square feet of cedar bark to protect... the cedar from the dank
and the Inuit, who wraps himself…
#
Small storms, large storms,
rich in the dank from the forever cold, clammy north Pacific, the last area to warm up during global warming, mean temperature in the forties,41 on December 1st,48 on July 1st.
Even El Niño can’t do much about that.
Now and then the surface warms a bit, but the deep-welling dank cold persists and always wins at all times of the year... the confluence of cold currents in the Pacific…
Consider the jet stream a conveyer belt
that moves more or less rapidamente,
if occasionally frayed, gets stuck, but near invariably hits the spot... the wide open sink... and then pours from all sides but chiefly... into the drain... for six months, sometimes nine months at a time...
Trickling, gliding droplets down into the drain: ah everything appears to have cleared out!
But there
lookee there lookee here
there is always one dropp left,
somewhere… to hit the spot,
sliding in, one last fat drop
pumping, dragging, cooling, tempering the offerings from the tropics...
Everything looks peaceful, navy blue on the navy site,
but if there isn't that one drop, that vapor veil, that mist, that low-lying set of clouds, that haze that materializes, coagulates into drops that slide down the sink sides and form drops or mere condensing mist...
as each class of storms...
narrows...
to a point...
And that Point is Seattle
The drain hole with with the soggy brain!

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