Stranger Holds Umbrella

STRANGER HOLDS UMBRELLA Rhythmic ripples of an h2o body, smooth saunter of disciplined legs, shadow in the dark, headless apparition. umbrella held steady, with a dustless glove. Pounding heart of fear or curiosity. clothing causes eyeball reaction, dizziness. cerulean like the sky, then fireball orange tartan plaid, then snowball white. Wanting a rainstorm to pour a deluge, to soak, this phantom stranger, make him or her turn toward the lamppost or the moonlight. Wanting for this clown to crash. For such are our jealousies, our bullying, the threat to our sensibilities. We want to take down what we don’t understand. Snatch the cloud-umbrella, shine a bright flashlight into his or her unwholesome eyes. Perhaps we’d find ourselves staring back, saying, “It’s your turn now. Take the umbrella, it’s yours.” and would we forget, walking like a rhythmic hymn, walking away from ourselves, with perfect cadence, until the next midlife stranger, tapped on a cherry-red suit, wanting to revisit the past, becoming the future. The suit turns all black, likewise the face and umbrella. lightning sees only a shadow, invisible, cloaked in death. 8/29/2017