Umbrella

I'm hoping that somebody will soon write to tell me that the vogue for these poems is over. As occasionally does happen, I was struck by a word while reading and it demanded to be a new poem. The word 'umbrella' was in a Donaghy poem- and if it's good enough for him, it's far too good for me.
It has associations for me, not only Rihanna's summertime hit but the downpour in London last year on the day we went to see The Magnetic Fields and they didn't play All the Umbrellas in London. And also, my early career as a retail jeweller. While it is certainly true that the search for rhyme extends a poem into places it wouldn't otherwise have gone, I'm not sure everyone will be able to follow me to all those places.
And just look at the fuzzy rhymes I threw away- ramble, bloomer, mob rule, ---l rumba, ---m rebel and it is a great shame not to have used creme brule.
Nevertheless.

Umbrella

The weather gods are above censure or blame.
The Earthquake Mass of Antoine Brumel
was playing on a stereo album,
the street was like a club’s chill out blue room.

Rain ran down the inlaid shop-front marble
where precious stones- quartz, corundum, beryl –
dozed in the windows like librium.
And then the thunder repeated its rumble.