It was raining very hard, so
I bought a green umbrella,
and within two hours,
I left it on the train.
British Rail swallowed it
forever. Some months later
I bought another, lucky blue,
to keep from melting
altogether, but the same day
I left it on the bus to Glasgow.
Perhaps, I thought, I am just
not an umbrella person.
But Tamara thought I needed one
in this climate, and she bought
me a very nice chocolate brown one
with a tasteful wooden handle. I said,
but I just lose them, and she said,
you'd better not lose this one.
We left it on the train
on the way home. I should have
been watching you, she said glumly. I
didn't say anything.
Now I have a car. I thought,
I'll get an umbrella
and keep it in the car
for emergencies. That way
it won't get lost so easily.
In every shop they remind me,
you've forgotten your umbrella.
Somehow it got out of the car and
into the house. It's there
somewhere; I remember seeing it.
It's probably safer there -
the last time I used it,
the wind used it
to tow me half a block,
nearly running down a slow gentleman
and two old ladies in tweeds
and sensible shoes,
before it turned inside out
and let me stop and breathe.
Isn't it lucky
that I enjoy the rain?
