Friday  Rain.

The café facing the busy street has big windows
I see umbrellas walking by, some of them stop,
fold wings, shake water off backs and enter.
I remember my childhood in black and grey when
umbrellas were stygian; and a lady
umbrella was a bit smaller, yet imp-like,
had frilly silk borders, but was sable too.            
Rain shades are of all colures now.
                      cheerful a sharp breeze, they turn inside out and that’s ok;
                     it is the festive hues against
the inundation I like.