Umbrella Poem
What an enormous risk it would’ve been!
To leave on my lunch break with nine dollars
to my name and nothing around but ghettos,
some way up the road a man crashed his car,
there was ice on the road and the rain was blinding.
There’s got to be a lesson in all that, right?
A modern interpretation of Aesop’s fables?
If only I could play my cards right, maybe
you’d sneak up on me in the rain, like a mouse
toeing around a puddle, matching orange boots
and throbbing heartbeats. Our arms entwined
under a nine-dollar umbrella, dry and in style.
© Samuel Swauger
Samuel Swauger is a poet from Baltimore, MD. His work appears in Tilde, Third Wednesday, and the Front Porch Review, among other publications. His Twitter is @samuelswauger.
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