a mating dance
guided by umbrellas
minus the copulation
plus the fury of rain drops
a rare form of beauty
amid the chaos
of bodies, of street noise
avoid an eye pang
all is clear-
Pardon my infantile poem, but on behalf of our favorite fourth
month, I would like to join the celebration of National Poetry Month.
Cliff Notes on the Tilt Poem (for those of you with any
background in poetry that are utterly disgusted by my written disaster
It’s raining. An aggressive pedestrian approaches you head-on.
Her/his height is within two inches of your height. A collision is
inevitable. Tilt. 30 Degrees. No more, No less. If the dance motion is
reciprocated on both ends, beauty will follow. Pure beauty. It’s magic
in umbrellic form.
If it isn’t reciprocated, you still may avoid danger. And you may also feel like an idiot.
Tilt is the word.
Spread it to friends and foes.
What are your rules of Umbrella Etiquette?
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