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Jul 07

Anything but a black umbrella

walks in bobs among highrises,
glassed mansion hotels,
ancient steeples.
Under striped-rainbow pastel,
my face beams where others’ glare
gloomy and drab,
morose funerals beneath
shrouds of black
waves of colorless shelters
and mourning cloaks,
gathering in mantles
with the thunderheads.
A stray ambient light coming only
from one uncontrollable pastel rainbow
refusing to be blotted out
by the stylishly dark,
protesting the
gothic parasol of the tragically hip,
extinguished instead for
the luring of the sunshine.

–Leah Angstman

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