Pauline Flynn, Visual Artist/Poet

On a Sudden Impulse

​

the woman glances around before opening

the umbrella inside the restaurant.

 

She knows she shouldn’t offer herself up

to superstitious glares, even attack,

 

but she feels pissed off about everything;

the inattentive service of the waiter, 

 

the noise from the coffee machine,

pelleting her brain, the surge

 

of electric current in her body, burning.

It’s the slow slide into the invisible

 

vexes her the most and she isn’t having it.

She stands up, pushes the chair away, 

 

holds the umbrella upright like a sword, 

triggers the spring. She feels the snap

 

of ribs against the umbrella’s canopy, 

the rush of air, and all eyes on her.