The Marlborough umbrella stands upright
red and white falling in rhythmic triangles
of light across the top half of tight spiked cloth.
The shining brown handle counter poised
with the slender silver spire now pointing to the floor
casting its soft shadow against a powder blue wall.
Beside it the hard roundness of the fire extinguisher
with its arching curved black rubber hose
protruding from a beak like handle ready
ready to be launched into a fearful fight of flames
when sirens wail and bells clatter a sudden thrall
and still life is animated by a hidden hand of fate.
The umbrella too just sits and waits
one for fire and for the other rain must fall
to end the stillness in the dusty corner
where little moves except when needs do call.
David Taylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-life-13/
