The gym class voice from the
airport (or is it the bus depot?)
interrupts the regularly scheduled
thunder to deliver its nightly warning
like one of those psychedelic
bull horn shouts from a Beatles
album where you can’t make out
a word of what Paul is saying
but you know what he is trying
to say somehow, some magic way
of hearing that works just fine if
you don’t try too hard.

And what Airport Paul is saying tonight
is the same thing he says every night, Brain:
The weather will be severe and I
should go inside. Consider me warned
Paul, but the weather is severe more
often than not and I think it’s a hell
of a show so I’ll stay put and watch through
my own smoke at the rain hitting the leaves and
listen to the kids screaming inside and the sirens
screaming up on the highway and hope that no one
is hurt.