At first it didn’t bother me much
but then I figured something was badly wrong
when even the crowd from CBS admitted
their weather was as bad as in St. John’s.
And icebergs, hardly a one to see,
except the scattered piddly one moving back and forth.
Rumour has it the rain washed them all away,
or the wind blew them back up north.
But worse again, a blocking high
that created this mess, according to “the Snod”
will make double digits for the rest of July
as rare as large Atlantic cod.
So those on holiday and the poor unlucky
tourists who have ventured to our shores
can forget visiting the capes, the beaches and the woods,
and are instead amusing themselves indoors.
“Good weather for ducks.” You might remark.
To which I would respond
that I already looked and noticed not
a single one left out on Burton’s Pond.
And upon taking a closer look
it occurred to me they had become so stressed
about the sorry state this place is in,
like so many others here, they must have moved out west.
And just the other evening there came a knock
a big fellow, creating quite a din.
I opened the door and found a young bull moose
saying, “Sir, I’m cold and wet. Would you kindly let me in.”
But I suppose that it’s not all bad.
It’s true you hardly see any skeets.
They’re all at home shivering by the stove
instead of terrorizing our streets.
And even the RNC admits
that the crime rate’s heading down
it’s just as well ‘cause no officer wants to be
out walking the beat in this town.
Of course if you wonder why the criminals are
not active it’s not hard to see why.
The face masks they use must stay rolled over
on their heads to keep them warm and dry.
And the silence! For the skies once alive
with aircraft heading for YYT
are as empty as the fishing banks
that lie beneath our once teeming seas.
The planes can’t land so they turn around
for Gander or for Halifax
short runways, low ceilings, rain, drizzle and fog
give most flights the axe.
And the golf courses,
sure none of them ever was in better shape,
all neatly trimmed with no divots or holes,
their beauty leaves your mouth agape.
Don’t be such a sook complaining that
it’s too damp and that you won’t play in the rain
grab your father’s fishing oil-clothes and sou’wester
‘cause he’ll never use them again.
And you’ve got the perfect excuse for not cutting the lawn,
cause the grass is too wet to mow
and the car never needs washing, and besides
there’s no beach or park that’s fit to go.
But enough of this I’ve still got summer work to do,
like wringing out my pants,
making sure the roof doesn’t leak,
and draining rainwater off my plants.