The Covered Sprawl

You can’t stand the rain,

even when you have an umbrella, a rain coat, and rain boots.

Whoever designs umbrellas

should either start taking hallucinogens

or realize there are more than just primary colors.

Picasso the hell out of an umbrella,

make the rolling droplets of paint mimic the rain.

You notice a nearby tree,

an oak tree with a truck as wide around as

a tent city.

The canopy 12 feet removed from ground, verdant

except for

gray moss patches,

like exposed capillaries,

litter the trunk.

You find you are not alone

under the canopy. Others,

some you know,

some you don’t;

all are thankful for respite from the rain,

only occasional drops come through.

From time to time you see others leave

the covered sprawl,

returning to the storm,

replaced by new faces and warm smiles;

some are cast out by the roots,

coming alive, angry

limbs swatting people like they were petulant insects.

You decide to stay under the canopy,

at least until the rain lets up.