No one has brought umbrellas, because the day’s as simple as a child’s first book. The Sun is in the sky. The birds are singing. See the dog run! The air’s mountain clear, and we can hear a distant radio playing from 1965. How does it feel? Anger flaring, bullets loading. This happened once before. So, no one has brought umbrellas. So, when the cats and dogs start falling – because it never rains but it pours, a cat may look at a king, and dog shall have his day – we are sitting ducks. Or, at least, we look like ducks and quack like ducks, and line up in a row. Lame ducks. Dead ducks. It’s raining stones.
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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor
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