Hype

Dear Weatherman, I have a gripe
About your dark prediction:
Too often you build up the hype;
It’s just like an addiction.

A storm’s a-brewing, coming soon,
You utter, so bombastic.
Better be inside by noon!
I wish you were sarcastic.

On the radio you blurt,
Now batten down the hatches!
Shoppers go on high alert;
Reality detaches.

Panicked folks prepare and then
Await the storm’s arrival,
Pondering the hour when
They’ll fight for mere survival.

Snow arrives, but hours late;
Starts with just a dusting.
Still the fear does not abate;
People are so trusting.

Plans are canceled, rearranged
In anticipation.
Dire predictions haven’t changed,
No alleviation.

Snow continues, leaves a coat;
Roads are icy slick.
Weatherman gets set to gloat,
‘Cause that’s what makes him tick.

But ho! The blizzard soon subsides
And for the weathercaster,
This unexpected turn provides
A taste of true disaster.

The loyal listeners are numb,
And shake their heads in wonder.
They know that next time, they’ll succumb
To the weatherman’s next blunder.