Liver fog

Around where I live we have weird weather:

Instead of wind we have strips of leather,

Flying around, hitting our faces,

Tangling up engines in high-up places.

Instead of rain we have falling shouts,

Disembodied voices of referees in bouts.

“Disqualified!” from above with a Doppler effect

Weirds you out with a cockney dialect.

Instead of fog we have a reddish-brown gas

That tastes like liver, i.e., ass.

It comes once a month like clockwork almost,

So you know to get the gas mask or travel to the coast.

That’s what I’d call weird, when it comes to weather.

You might not, you can disagree altogether.

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