The game always works this way -- one person has all the answers
and the rest are in the dark, left to interpret questions,
It's summer, and I'm at a table of teenage girls
who can still eat grilled cheeses and wear sarcasm like a scarf.
The Umbrella is the game we play. Yesterday we all sat in a circle
as one girl murdered each of us one by one with her eyes.
Can I bring my solar powered furnace
under your umbrella?
No, you cannot, the lead girl says with a smile.
May I bring my hate under your umbrella?
No, you most certainly cannot bring your hate.
Can I bring my dull shed under your umbrella?
Nope. No dull sheds, sorry.
Um, can I bring my alcoholism under your umbrella then?
Yes, yes you may. Please do.