(An umbrella with more confidence than structural integrity.)
It strutted out of the house
as if it had negotiated
a private treaty with the sky.
A modest drizzle, it claimed,
was well within its jurisdiction.
But the clouds,
as usual,
had other plans.
It opened with a flourish,
a little too proud
of its thin metal ribs,
as though it could reason
with the wind.
The first real gust
folded it inward –
like a philosopher
caught in his own argument,
momentarily reconsidering
whether logic
was ever meant
to bend so sharply.
And somewhere beneath it,
I ducked,
half embarrassed, half amused,
as if witnessing
a small, polite rebellion
against the laws
of physics and decorum.