Umbrella Blues

A pickin’ and grinnin’ lyric just for you.

Rain come down
Pound by pound
On my spot
In the parking lot
Late for work
In my polo shirt
And denim jeans
Designing scenes

Oh, me. Oh, my.
I’m an unlucky fellow
Oh, my. Oh, me.
Where’s my umbrella?

From where I sit
Wet I’ll get
If I go
To paint that show
I’m painting the film
Of Jungle Jim
Up a tree
With monkeys

Oh, me. Oh, my.
I’m an unlucky fellow
Oh, my. Oh, me.
Where’s my umbrella?

Lost my job
Sitting in my Ford
Waiting on the rain
Being a pain
Unemployed
I’m annoyed
Lost my car
Cash au revoired

Oh, me. Oh, my.
I’m an unlucky fellow
Oh, my. Oh, me.
Where’s my umbrella?

Umbrella blues
For me and you
When it storms
The water performs
So don’t forget
You’ll be wet
You’ll discover
Without your cover.

Oh, me. Oh, my.
I’m an unlucky fellow
Oh, my. Oh, me.
Where’s my umbrella?

Mrs. Noah

It’s raining. It’s always raining in winter here. It never stops. If only it would stop, I could get on with my life. Wonder how Mrs. Noah felt on that ark, with the fam all stuffed into one little cabin.’Cause the rest of the ark had to be used for the animals. Geez, she must have been going crazy with all those animals. And the relatives. There was that daughter-in-law she couldn’t stand. When she married the big guy, she didn’t ask for this. Over a month on this damned boat and still no land in sight. Then there was the problem with the flu. Nobody ever talks about the two weeks when everybody on the boat came down with the flu. Mrs. Noah was the only one who was able to fight it off. Not only did she have to take care of the animals, she had two weeks without a break with Mr. Noah and the three sons and their wives, puking all over the deck. Poor Mrs. Noah. By the time the ark hit land, she up and asked for a divorce. That’s why you don’t hear no more about Mrs. Noah. She was out of there and off to the Hanging Gardens for some Me time. I know she must have hated the rain. Will it ever stop?

It’s raining in America

It’s raining in America,
or at least it’s raining on my town,
water splashing the windshield,
wipers setting a beat for the music on the radio,
headlights from the oncoming cars
falling like Christmas lights onto the city streets,
travelling their passages to love and glory,
passengers ridding waves of time and space.
It’s night time in the city,
And angels walk the clouds above, waiting for the daylight.

Soon.

You just can’t win

An argument with myself

There is nary a cloud in the sky. Well, maybe a few. Not enough to need an umbrella. Still maybe an umbrella is needed.

Naw, be brave.

What if it rains?

You know it’s not going to rain. No rain in the forecast.

That’s true but I don’t know.

Even if it does, you’ll get a little wet. Water never hurt anybody. Now did it?

What about the wicked witch of the west?

Yeah, well she deserved it. You’re not her. You’re not going to melt. So forget the umbrella and get on with your walk.

I’m getting my umbrella.

What, and look like a fool.

Those are big clouds.

And they are not rain clouds. Admit that. They’re nice clouds. The kind of clouds you want on a summer’s day.

Still. I should carry my umbrella.

People will laugh at you.

If it rains, I’ll be the one laughing.

Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Then again maybe you’re right.

I walk a half mile and it starts raining.

See. I told you that you should carry an umbrella.