Don't look up now
runner—your good old
familiar
marquee is all
of a
suddenly missing—as
erstwhile bold
whole
streetsides full
of gold-
dappled umbrellas
clap shut
or else—slap
so wet and tempestuously upwards.
Although—don't
you dare regard
down below either—where spitupon roads
hiss to hear the tires
and the waffle-
iron soles
of so many other hale hikers'
formerly so
uninhibited vehicles—
now weakly
dribbling
away
their ambitions.