Headline: Weatherman Al Roker Viciously Selfied
The Snapchat Hunters,
rarely having breathed
the same oxygen that fills
celebrity lungs,
lunge at Al Roker,
shooting on site,
iPhones cocked and loaded.
“Al Roker, look over here!”
“Can I get a selfie, Al?”
“Al, sign my baby!”
It is 4:30 in the morning
when America’s Celebrity Weather Man
is accosted by dogs in pants,
pawing at his arms,
barking,
snapping ,
sowing seeds of fatigue
around his weathered half-smile.
It is 4:30 in the morning
and a breathing organism,
is ferociously kneaded
and shaped,
into a Facebook Like with legs.
It is 4:30 in the morning,
and there’s panic behind
his wet eyes,
as he is witness to the blustering
birth
of newborn paparazzi.
Men. Women. Children.
Repeating. Retweeting.
Begging him to say his famous sign
off.
He’s gazing at them.
“Here’s what’s happening,
In your neck of the woods.”
And for the first time,
he’s not talking about the weather.
Tyler Pursch is a poet and short story writer living in Spokane, Washington. He has forthcoming work in The Wire Harp and The Conium Review. When he’s not building sets for The Modern Theater, he’s hanging out in the back of poetry slams and editing work for his writing group, The Post Script.