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,
       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
       of newborn paparazzi.
       Men. Women. Children.
       Repeating. Retweeting.
       Begging him to say his famous sign

       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.