my dismal dehydration

Toe, heel. Toe, heel.

One foot over the other.

The width of the curb is not very forgiving,

but,

like a gymnast on a beam,

I balance precariously.

The umbrella in my hand

is only catching the wind

and tugging me to either side;

baked brown grass to my right,

and pavement on my left.

There is no rain,

but maybe when the clouds see

how I'm waiting down here,

raincoat and all,

they will take pity on me

and spare a few drops.

Look.

I even wore my plastic boots,

the gaudy yellow ones

that blister my heels

in case of puddles, naturally.

They're called galoshes,

but that word gets stuck in my throat.

It's just my luck.

There has never been

a dryer

umbrella.