The Weather in Brooklyn
Jake Goldwasser
The Weather in Brooklyn
The following is a conversation between a person and the Google Home device on his nightstand.
Tell me the weather in Brooklyn, New York
Tell me the hourly weather in Brooklyn, New York
Tell me how many people in Brooklyn, New York
are sleeping by themselves tonight
under the ironwork
of headboards
Tell me the weather
Tell me about a time
you faced an obstacle and
how you overcame it
and tell me what that
measurement was
Tell me about the time
we floated
down the river
shaped like the kind of string
you find in the pocket of
your jeans
in floats that looked like
flamingoes and
pineapples
Tell me the capital of South Dakota
for the crossword we’re working on
with legs twisted
on the couch like pipe cleaners
Tell me the meaning of the word “shibboleth”
Tell me
it has never felt
as much like a coincidence as this
like we came to the same lock with
the same
snaggletooth keys
Tell me this is going to work out just fine
Tell me what it was you liked
about
me again
Tell me
the divorce rate in Brooklyn, New York
Tell me the difference between love and desire, then
Tell me
seven science-backed tips for being more productive
Tell me the name of the neurotransmitter for intimacy
Tell me what I have on the schedule today
Tell me that quote about god laughing at our plans,
then
Tell me where you want to take this decade
or where you see it bringing you
Tell me about
the projects you meant to get to
while seasons seemed
to dissipate
out the windows of
the offices we sleepwalked into
Tell me about your fear of time passing,
the watch face
and why
it’s as thick
as your wrist
Tell me what it was you meant to say
before your mouth closed
before we heard footsteps on the staircase
and cowered under covers
like
naked children
Tell me the weather again
Tell me the weather in Brooklyn, New York
Tell me again
the joke you used to tell
the one about
the sleeping lovers
in the city,
the last lights
blinking off
like eyelids in some
forgotten measure
of a lullaby
