The Umbrella

by Joe Sullivan

The nylon sheath

that encased the umbrella

you lost still sits

in the pocket of my old

raincoat reminding me

of other things I bought,

other things lost, maybe

that you lost

that belonged to me

They've all been missing

for some time

and I hardly notice

except on December days

when the rains come

in a downpour

and I'm left rummaging

through a closet that holds

no umbrellas