Jun 16, 2015

The Neighborhood Girls Fall for the WKBN Meteorologist

Written by Allison Pitinii Davis

Read by Emilia Phillips

The gist: The meteorologist pushes weather
from the westside. He’s the darling digger
of the cold front, Live from WKBN: the highest perch
remaining downtown. We want his temperature,
we want to feel his forehead, to measure it
in our mint-green kitchens at midnight with bar neon
pulsing down the block. The valley falls silent
when he works thunder across the counties —
Mahoning, Trumbull: what muscle. Oh what a thing
to watch for. These warming Friday nights
when even grandpas unbutton their work shirts
we park out behind his station and arch back against
the back bumper, a street of hydrangeas in our hair.
A lot of salty Chevys. A lot of lipgloss zombies.
Any second now he’ll exit, the second storm
is coming, but can’t he know we’ll wait all night? —
our hearts without accuracy, our money on
the side door, our eyes bullseyeing the sky.

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