There Aren't Umbrellas in Portland

There aren't umbrellas in Portland.

City streets barraged by rain,

Folks merrily walk damp terrain

In puffy, hooded jackets.

Locals never buy umbrellas.

Fully stocked parasol racks,

Decay in grocery store sale stacks

Near misted, happy faces.

This city is always raining

But umbrellas take up space,

And locals likes to save a place

For everyone on sidewalks.

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There aren't umbrellas in Portland

Locals know to watch the sky,

As brimming clouds meander by.

Umbrellas block the view.

Locals never buy umbrellas.

Grinning folks with frizzy hair

and tightly coiled knitted neckwear

Would rather see than stay dry.

This city's always looking up.

Despite storms and battered pavement,

Folks from Portland never prevent

A chance to reach at heaven.