the weatherman is a robot,
he makes a buzzing sound when he comes over
the radio and T.V.
I heard him in my car one night,
he comforted me with his emotionless,
monotone, rigid voice.
I know he has a robot wife and robot children,
he eats holographic food prepared
with pixels and fixins that his wife
only knows.
His house is made of metal,
I want to visit him,
but i am afraid of his cloudy predictions and his highs and lows, his storms and his cold fronts.
He is no doubt a descendant of the subterranean inhabitants of the inner earth, i know these weathermen have came here to harvest us for slaves to work in their mushroom labs. They have also used cross-genectics, crossing humans and potatoes.
The weatherman is a robot,
he makes buzzing sounds.