Shopping is a chore, essential, but a bore
I set off with two bags, I wouldn’t be long
The sky was looking black, I’d soon be there and back
Or so I thought. It turned out I was wrong.

I had my well worn brolly, but I was off my trolley
To think that it could handle any wrangle
So when the deluge started, all trust in it departed
As wind whipped up and blew from every angle.

An upward thrust no doubt, turned my brolly inside out
It’s spokes we’re pointing upwards as it rained
Reversing them at last, I stood there quite aghast
It splashed me with cold water as it drained.

Now wet and in a tizzy, my coiffured hair turned frizzy
A dangling broken spoke began to sway
Another found my head, preferring frizz instead
Locked in position, it was there to stay.

Bags put on my left arm, had done a tad of harm
Blood circulation poor, my hand felt dead
Now struggling with my right, the brolly soon took flight
Taking several strands from my wet head.

With troubles not quite ended, a tidal wave descended
Cars had emptied puddles as they passed
With water in each shoe, I’d grown an inch or two
My bags were also soaked, I hoped they’d last.

The shock resumed blood flow, but drenched from head to toe
The gusting wind meant clothes just flapped and flopped
My brolly gone and broken, with swear words thought not spoken
I squelched my way home. Ha! The rain had stopped.

Gill Kirkby