I looked down from my cloud, upon the opening umbrellas
Like colorful birds in hasty flight.
I slide my way down toward you,
Noting your frayed edges and steepled wires.
Something seems to draw me to you,
Perhaps the chance to pass right through
The holes caused by greater storms than mine.
Perhaps it’s the character of the faded yellow,
Which creates an illusion of fairer weather.
Or perhaps I never chose my path at all.
And so I slip
Onto the wiry frame
Of careworn, yellow nylon,
Then drop from the tip of your wing,
Down I plunge,
Toward the pavement where I will be washed away,
A single drop engulfed in a noisy stream.
I push in one direction,
Hoping to slip through a crack in this city’s jagged sidewalks
But the masses push against me;
Like bustling New Yorkers, hurrying about.
I find myself passing Big Mac wrappers,
Still warm with grease, and covered in dirt;
Already made obsolete by tomorrow’s news.
A ticket stub,
Perhaps for a movie,
Or a brief ride on a Ferris wheel
Lit up in the night with gleaming bulbs.
This diverse collection of trash,
Which clogs the city drains,
Reminding nature of civilization,
Blurs past me as I whirl through the streets.
I only slow down once,
As each drop of water pushes forward into the gutter,
Like frantic shoppers on black Friday,
Struggling to push through the open doors,
Desperately pressing against the barriers,
In the hopes of arriving first.
My life is made of motion, never stopping
Maybe providence, maybe luck, or divine inspiration,
Spins me in a new direction.