An Ode to People with Golf Umbrellas in the City
Oh no.
/
I see you coming from 20 feet away,
but there is no time to run
/
It was not in my plan for today
to be stabbed in the eye,
but I’ve just encountered you,
so I suppose
I’ll have to make room for it
/
I hope it’s okay if I ask:
What use is there for a canopy of that circumference?
Did you come directly
from a country club
to the bustling streets of Manhattan?
/
This sidewalk is not big enough
for the two of us,
and it sure as shit
isn’t big enough for the three of us —
And by that I mean me, you,
and your golf umbrella.
But
you do not notice.
Even as this thought enters my mind,
you force your way down the crowded sidewalk,
Oblivious to your sheer width
as people dive out of your way.
You seem like a golf person,
so you’ll get this:
It seems, perhaps, that there is a 19th hole
And it is you —
An asshole.
/
I almost admire
how sharp
the tips of the umbrella are,
and how they stretch out
5 feet longer than necessary
/
Is there room for me under there?
And perhaps,
room for my entire family?
/
That umbrella could certainly fetch
at least $400 a month
(Utilities not included)
if you rented it out right here.
/
What grudge have you against smaller,
more compact models?
Have you not heard of Totes?
Was this umbrella purchased
with a set of patio furniture?
/
You draw closer, but still I see
no golf bag.
I am running out of excuses
for you
for that
for all of this.
/
But suddenly
I have a thought:
Is this an ill-advised
live recreation of Singing in The Rain?
/
But, alas
I assume not —
I don’t see you dancing
And I see no one smiling.
Gene Kelly deserves
Far better.
/
Rainy days are good
for self-reflection.
May I suggest, then,
that you reflect on your choices?
/
