Pam Webb

NPM: #22–bumbershoots and such

L’Avenir est Quelque Chose (The future is something)

by Dobby Gibson

All day for too long 
everything I’ve thought to say
has been about umbrellas…

the rest of the poem

I own a passel of umbrellas. Some I have adopted, since they get left in my classroom. A few I inherited from my mother-in-law who actually had an impressive collection of them, ranging from the impressive wooden-handled proper British brelly to the cheapy insurance company giveaways. I have bought my own umbrellas when the mood strikes. I carry an extra one or two in the car. Once, I stopped and gave one to a child shivering in the rain while she waited for her school bus. In fact, I toy with the idea of becoming an umbrella aficionado and giving them away as I see fit. I will wait for white hair and the Social Security checks for that to transpire. A crazy old lady is considered harmless–at least I hope my umbrellaling will be considered benign, if not quaintly amusing.

image: Morguefile/garbofromhungary