Friday, October 13, 2006

2ii.

An umbrella. Gucci, black, silver, seventy-five dollars.

Crushed. Tattered beneath the tyres of a frantic street.

3 comments:

rhille said...

this poem made me smile.
so simple.
so short.
so sweet.

so beautiful.

it shows us how frantic and fast-paced this world is, not even stopping to dodge a helpless umbrella, but instead running over it cruelly, leaving dark(er) black tyre marks on it.

i never realised Gucci umbrellas could be so enchanting.

goodness, i didn't even realise Gucci SOLD umbrellas.

nat said...

Har har! Did she get the umbrella from e-bay?

nat said...

The Gucci umbrella almost destroyed Gucci's credibility as a fashion house in the 80's, that is, until Tom Ford stepped in. The Gucci umbrella is something like an icon, really.