Patrick Reen

Of the Windswept Umbrella (or, Healing South Africa)

Today was another bad umbrella day

and the skeletal frames of weary victims

incongruent, indignant in plastic prison garb;

were forced to gather thoughts exiled in a bin

alongside paths littered with passing, laughing eyes.

Thus whipped by wind and mirth, they

realized one by one and their feeble, battered

bodies slumped into the damp. Their downfalls

were wrapped in soliloquy, punctuated by pathos;

what’s worse, the audience was indifferent.

So, the actors who violently fled their presence

left their angry thoughts to collect on upturned

faces and shrugged aside the tired audience.

“As transparent a performance as the

rain which brought it into being…” the critics said.

And later, fingers with sense of potential

rescued these captives from uncertain fate

and lined them up for creative inspection.

I was told that these hands construct reality from

the lofty unattained, one sad umbrella at a time.

Patrick Reen © 2007