No Umbrella
There is always something to write about
I don’t know what you are talking about
There is always something to write about
So take out your pen and spell it out
I was trying to book a ticket for a flight
but the one hour flight turned out to be twenty hours ride
the place I wanted to go is just next door but the
booking is taking me all over the world
So I shut down the computer to give it a break.
I walked through the door and confronts the humidity
As I walked down the street I whispers a song gentle
The afternoon was pretty warm and I could see
the sun beams spilling its light over the tall buildings
while the chirping birds fly furiously to and fro
Looking for a safe place to go
Just as I walked towards the train station
The brightly lit sky suddenly turned dark
And I could feel the rain sprinkling all over me
There was hardly anyone on the street
And most of the businesses were closed
Three foreigners walked along the street towards me
So I slowed down at the shoe store and let them pass me
I looked at the shoes on the street side briefly
And one of the tall white men carrying a green bag
Over his shoulder walked towards the shoes and glanced at them
For one moment I thought he was one of the London environmental protesters but he crossed in front of me and went into the men’s clothing store
The other couple turned the corner and I walked straight to the train station,
The rain began to pour down and I wanted to go back to close the window
but I did not yield to the distractions
Everyone starts running for shelter
So I begin the next chapter.
There is always something to write about
you just have to open your mouth
When I wink my eyes that is a story
When I take a shower that is a story
And every prop in my room is a story
There is always something to write about
Men and women seek refuge in the train station
Waiting for the rain to stop but I board the train and got off at my stop
I crouched up at the exit and waited for the rain to stop
but it pored heavier and heavier and I was trapped
The people weren’t thankful at all, from the look on their face
It appeared as if they hated the rain and was unhappy that it came
The rain took them by surprise and nobody was prepared
Men and women bundle in front of the train station
Waiting for the rain to cease
Mothers hold their babies close to their chest
While their hungry yawning children
Sit close to their breast waiting for the rain to stop
Not one umbrella was in sight, not a raincoat or an over coat
I looked all around the street, and this was the strangest scene
In every culture when it rains
the street is usually filled with umbrella,
but here everything comes to a standstill
Where in heavens have they been?
I stepped out in the rain and cross the road
And a man passed by with a big blue umbrella
then another woman passes me with a purple umbrella
I felt relieved that everything was real and it wasn't a dream
Something glittering from across the street caught my attention
The golden art sculpture on the other side of the road lined up on the wall was an intriguing sight, I crossed the road and took some photo but the pouring rain forced me to run along
I was puzzled by these golden alien like sculpture
people’s feet shackled together they seem to be a royal family
Am I dreaming? No they were the splitting
Image of the yam feet I saw in the dream last night
I wish I understood the story behind the sculpture
The story is deep and it left a weird feeling inside of me
The water on the side water come pouring,
leaving the street bare and empty
but the music resonated from the electronic shop highlight my existence
It’s like something dynamic had passed through the town
and I just could not understand the afternoon’s rhythm
I walked along the pavement and something unusual confronts
A man sitting on high chair having his shoes done
The shoe shine man dressed in a purple tea shirt, brown shorts
Sits comfortable on an old blue milk crate polishing the man’s boots.
Here it is hot summer but he was wearing a leather boots and the shoeshine man was turning the brown boots into black. The lower portion of the boot was black and the upper portion was brown and he was polishing the brown boots with black polish.
I try to dig deep to find out the inner meaning but my analysis was troubling.
The man sitting in the shoe shine chair looked like my uncle Jimmy and the shoeshine man looked like my cousin Hentley, it was quite alarming.
How could it be? It was just a resemblance. I watched him shine the shoe for a while then a tall skinny man with a walking stick with his left arm saddled in a sling walked by .His body structure was the splitting image of my uncle Roderick but that too was a myth, he looked like the man sitting over the hole in the dream, and he has the figure of the golden alien on the wall across the street or maybe he is from the bones family
Who are these people? and why did they grab my attention?
God knows that I cannot answer the question
I walked along the pavement, and the skinny old man cross my path for the second time, even though I want to show some sympathy, I had encountered too much in one day so I walked quickly away.
I bought an umbrella to protect my computer and hurried along the street.
Business suddenly came to a halt and anxious business owners pace to and fro, in their shops; they weren’t selling anything
What a cruel Easter this must have been, bloodshed, mock flood
And the aliens running about
I walked up the road but rain was signaling me to go back home
I bought a shoe from the clothing store and made my way back to town
There is always something to write about
And when I am in the mood, I will shout everything out.
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2019
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