HEADLINE: Weather Man 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 Martin Pursch is a Washingtonian poet and short story writer with work in The Conium Review, Jazz Cigarette Magazine and Meat for Tea Magazine. He thanks his daring friends for taking on this Bohemian journey, and hopes to give a voice to many yet-unknown artists. He is a scenic builder for the theatre and a member of the infamous, underground, Pacific Northwest writing group, The Post Script.