Not all Bad

Between classes I walk through the rain
beside the buildings in the quad
watching the parade of umbrellas go by.
Students and teachers all display
their individuality and tastes as they let
the umbrellas open like psychedelic mushrooms
under the darkened stormy sky.
Some umbrellas have bright colors,
like watery Monet paintings while
just black, like the birds that squall in the trees.
Some umbrellas open fully like flowers,
perfect round blooms of color while
some hang haphazardly on their skeletal wires,
with the cloth waving like a shroud in the wind.
Others are held up like broken wings
trying to shelter the one they are protecting.
I watch as some flip inside out and escape
like a dandelion puff floating on a breeze
even as I battle to keep my own umbrella
from flying away like a frightened pigeon.
Then I see the students with no flowers,
no wires and no wings to shelter them
and they run from one building to the next
huddled under papers and thin coats
trying to find a little bit of warmth
and a dry place to weather the storm.
I walk past them all, glad that I'm safe
beneath the shield of teddy bears
that decorates my trusty red umbrella.
Twirling the handle I go out of the way
just to jump in the puddles, sending out
ripples like an SOS.

September 26, 2002