Umbrellaphobia

"Hey Baby-" I said, 

"It's one of those wet winter Tuesdays in New York,

where your converse get soaked and you pass out on the subway and people vanish from Facebook 

and you don't even notice right away.."

What?

"Bundle up and stay dry," I told her, 

"I love you."

Then she asked me to weekend mad hatter tea parties

and I told her to kiss you once for me but 

not to tell you.

And I played peer editor and read her desires for a college experience that eluded most of us

but didn't rain on her parade. 

Because it's hard, on Tuesdays like these, 

to know which way you're walking or where you're going,

Or where you came from?

Something about the wet and the rain and all those

Black, bloody, umbrellas out there,
threatening eye balls across the boroughs.

You know there's no name for an irrational fear of umbrellas?

I'm settled on umbrellaphobia, but trust me, that's not it.

No, that's not it.

Then she asks me why I'm passing out on subways,

I tell her it's not me, it's you, I just talk about it.

What?

"Bundle up and stay dry," she tells me, 

"I love you."