The Gliders

Observer gliders soar through the clouds, spreading the latest batch of chemicals cooked up by the Weather Division.
“Rain will be purple today,” they said.
The chemicals are meant to turn the rain purple, but the rain is more pink than purple.
And when we catch it on our tongues, it burns.
Everybody runs for cover, and we watch the streets sizzle with acidic fury.
Then, the storm passes, and we wander the pock-marked streets stained with the melted-off paint from cars.
The Weather Division promises orange rain tomorrow morning.
We put on our gas masks and go to sleep.