Dave Bonta's "Autopsy" is a single line, and its joke lands slowly. The speaker is dead, or speaks as if dead, and is surprised to find that the dead still have weather. We expect death to be a place of stillness, an end to sun, rain and wind. Instead the speaker comments on it the way anyone chats about the forecast: "such weather we get in our country."
That casual tone is what makes the line work. The speaker doesn't sound frightened or sorrowful. There's a dry, mild amusement, like someone who has moved to a new town and notices the climate isn't what they expected. Calling death "our country" makes it feel like a place with its own citizens and habits.
The title adds a twist. An autopsy is cold and clinical, a body being examined, yet here the "body" talks back with small talk. The mood is quietly strange, funny and a little eerie. The line also nudges us to wonder whether death is really as blank as we imagine, or whether the speaker is simply a living person describing a deadened world.